Big Game
by C0ldSteel
Summary: It's MorMor as I guarantee you've NEVER seen it. Think Warrior Cats for adults only not. Includes a little JohnLock and Adliarty. (This is NOT about Sebastian Wilkes, but the book character Sebastian Moran. He doesn't appear in Sherlock, so I'm using the Seb tag for him for now [but Wilkes also makes an appearance].) Rated M for stuff you might/might not see in a nature program. xD
1. A Study In Pride 1

_You're probably going to think I'm crazy for this but I was reading a MorMor fic and this wild idea suddenly came to me. Complete acid trip. So... here goes nothing._

* * *

**Big Game**

A Study In Pride part 1

* * *

Sherlock stalked forward carefully, a few steps at a time. This was to be a matter of sheer skill. He knew his quarry knew he was nearby—several large pairs of eyes were glancing furtively his way. Looking and pretending not to look. He took a few more steps, being careful to keep his head down...

Suddenly the tall one leaped away from him and Sherlock realized that in keeping his head low he had neglected to pay attention to his rear anatomy.

_Damn tail!_ Sherlock sprang forward after the gazelle, but he targeted a smaller specimen that looked easier to catch. No sense wasting all his energy at once. It would be more tender anyway.

In six strides he'd caught up to his quarry and tripped it up with one long dewclaw. The creature tried to rise, but he was on it again in an instant, and then the work was done.

He wanted to begin his meal right away, but he knew he had an audience, so he waited for the little ocelot to join him.

"So, what do you think, John?" asked Sherlock.

"That was amazing," the ocelot replied, choking on the dust the gazelles had raised. "It was slick, it was quick, it was impressive... it was, quite simply... incredible."

A smirk covered Sherlock's spotted face. "That's not what most people say."

"Why, what do most people say?"

"'Show-off.'"

John laughed. "Do you mind if I...?"

"Not at all. Help yourself."

They ate in silence for a while, knowing that if they were not quick, someone would come and steal their meal.

When they were nearly full, John said, "So, I heard a rumor that the lions had their hands full with a certain leopard. They say he's got half the predators for miles paying him tribute."

"Absolutely true. Well, true that someone is taking a very demanding role of leadership in the realm of predators. He resides somewhere south of here, but where exactly I don't know. I intend to track him down, though."

"A cheetah tracking a leopard?" John said skeptically. "There's no denying you could outrun him, but if you ever got close he'd break your spine."

"Well, keep this close to the fur, but I've been weapons training."

"Weapons are for hyenas," John said scornfully. "No one respectable's used weapons since the humans died out. Well, ever, really... because the humans weren't respectable."

"Only those who are afraid of weapons condemn them," Sherlock rejoined. "Anyway, you can't blame the hyenas too much... their hunting abilities are severely lacking. Besides, you were in the great dust battle yourself..."

"As a healer! There's a difference."

"You mean to say you never fought?"

"Well..."

"And didn't they train you?"

"Well..."

"And don't you keep a crossbow in the little crevice by the stream?"

"How did you know that?"

Sherlock grinned and bent back to the gazelle carcase. _Oh, I'm going to enjoy this little companion._

* * *

Jim stretched his long limbs, sunning himself on his favorite ledge. _What a boring day._

His ennui was soon alleviated however, when a hawk swooped down to settle on a sparse bush nearby, which could scarcely bear its weight.

"Your kingly catness," the hawk addressed him.

"How many times must I tell you—it's _Professor,_" Jim snapped.

"Very well, Professor. There's a new predator in your dominion. A tiger from up north."

"Everyone's from up north," Jim said, stifling a yawn. "We're about as far south as anyone interesting cares to go."

"From _India_ up north."

"Very well. What about him?"

"He's not very accepting of our ways—of your laws. Shall I bring him to see you?"

"I suppose so." Jim sat up and stretched his front legs, extending the claws and twisting his neck from side to side. "Send Clem or someone along with him, just for insurance." _Tigers are the largest cats, after all. Can't be too careful._

In a few minutes the tiger was ambling toward him, flanked by Clem the hyena and overshadowed by Jason, Jim's secretary bird.

"Good afternoon, Professor," said Jason. "This is Moran. He's new in these parts."

"So I've heard." Jim looked the tiger over. His fur was matted and dirty, but there was no overlooking his regal features and daunting size. A long knife hung in a sheath around his neck. "Moran isn't an Indian name," he observed.

"No. Western influence. But then, Moriarty isn't African, either."

"True." One side of Jim's mouth had begun to pull upward in a small smile.

"But now that the continents are back together and everyone's mixing, I say who gives an elephant's shit about all that?"

Jim's smile grew. He liked the tiger's attitude. "I hear you don't like the way I run things around here."

"Bad news travels fast—and loses shape as it goes. It's true that I'm not used to sharing my kill with anyone; not since my family died."

"Aw," said Clem. "His family died."

"Shut up, Clem," Jim warned. Hyenas could be so stupid.

"How'd they die?" Clem asked, apparently oblivious to the warning.

"I killed them," the tiger answered.

Jim couldn't keep the surprise off his face. A tiger was not easy to kill, even for another tiger. And to kill one's own blood was not natural. "Moran, how would you like to stay here with me? You wouldn't have to hunt at all; I would give you a cut of the tribute I receive from other predators. In return, you would be my personal guard. You're the only tiger in these parts—a valuable commodity."

"I'm not a commodity. And I'm no one's pet. I enjoy killing for myself. The hunt is my entertainment; the kill is my passion."

"In that case, if you agree to ally yourself to me, I'll grant you first choice of whatever hunting ground you choose. You won't receive a better offer than that." While the tiger considered, Jim added, "And of course, if you refuse I'll have to have you run off my territory. It's a long run. I have a large territory."

"It's a good offer," Jason put in.

"A very good offer," Clem agreed.

"Shut up," Jim growled.

"May I have some time to consider?" the tiger inquired.

"Very well. I'm feeling generous. I'll give you until this time tomorrow. In the meantime, Jason, have something fresh brought up for us. Our guest is tired. Clem, you stay. But keep your sill mouth shut."

"Okay," Clem said with a nervous laugh.

_Why must they laugh when they're nervous? _Jim silently lamented. Hyena laughter put him on edge. But then, most things the hyenas did put him on edge. If the tiger stayed, it would be a welcome change. "Is Moran a surname?" he asked the tiger.

"Yes. My first name is Sebastian."

"Sebastian." Jim said the name slowly, enunciating it as if it were something tasty to chew on. "It suits you. Mine is Jim. Well, James, but no one calls me that. Ever. You may call me sir."

Sebastian blinked slowly and did not answer.

"That's quite a knife you have."

"It makes for better skinning if time isn't short. It can open green coconuts as well."

"Coconuts? I've heard of them, but I've never tasted them. Ever use the knife for fighting other predators?"

"Yes; it's useful there as well. Can give an advantage. But I rarely meet a predator that would dare challenge me. Your arrangement here is... very different from what I'm used to."

"Have you used any other weapons?"

"I can use any weapon you can supply. Although... guns are tricky."

"Yes," Jim agreed. Cats were further along than most animals, but even their paws still had trouble grasping and maneuvering certain things. The apes had the advantage in the hand department, but most of them had dreadful eyesight, so their aim was rarely dangerous. Besides the lack of dexterity, bullets were incredibly awkward to carry and to load into the firearms.

"Still, I can manage better than most."

"You must have excellent paw skills for a cat of your size to handle something so intricate."

"I'm well known for it in my homeland."

Jason returned then, he and the hawk carrying a wildebeest leg between them.

"Fresh off the plains, compliments of the immigrant dingos," the hawk reported.

"Thanks, Desmond. About time those dogs started pulling their weight. I was afraid I'd have to have their leader brought in again, and I can't stand that Australian accent. So irritating." Jim dipped his head toward the fresh meat. "There you are, Sebastian. Have as much as you like."

The tiger had surprisingly good table manners, grasping and tearing the flesh away rather than diving in and gnawing away like so many of the lions did, getting their faces all gory in the process. Jim liked watching the way those powerful jaws tugged the meat from the bones, and the giant tongue flicking out from time to time to wipe blood from his black lips.

"It's sunset," Jason observed. "Will you require a leopardess tonight, Professor?"

"No," Jim replied, not even giving it any thought. _Why would I want female company tonight, when I've got this tiger here, you idiot bird? Not about to mate in front of him, am I? And I'm not letting him out of my sight._ "No, you and Desmond may go. And Clem, you can go to the lower ledge, but be ready if I call you."

"Yes, sir," the minions chorused.

When they were gone, Jim smiled at Sebastian apologetically. "Good help is so hard to find."

"Indeed. That's why I prefer to be on my own. I thought leopards were the same way."

"Most are. But most are not as intelligent as I. I've risen above my instincts to exploit the creatures around me. Life is both pleasant and easy for me, while it is a struggle for everyone else."

"You sound like a human."

Jim laughed. "Well, after all... now that they're gone, it's time for a new creature to dominate. And I'll be damned before I let it be the lions."

"The lions are starting to become quite pushy," Sebastian agreed. "They've spread all over, some even up near the arctic. Some of the males have started adding tigresses to their collections."

"It's the obscene way they breed. A dozen females for each leading male, the surplus males trained as a regiment, scores of cubs all the time... there's no way the tiger or leopard population could work that way. Bloody Mormons."

It was Sebastian's turn to laugh. He knew that few animals held religious beliefs, but that the structure of a lion pride was laughably comparable to a Mormon family. "Did you want any of this?" he asked.

"No thank you; I ate earlier. Twice, in fact. You go ahead."

Sebastian finished all but the least scraps, and Jim enjoyed nudging the bones down onto the lower ledge where they landed behind Clem, who yelped in a laugh of fright before turning around, grinning at his treat and calling "Thanks, boss!"

Jim sighed. "Simpleminded oaf." He turned back to Sebastian. Only a few faint traces of blood showed that he had just eaten. "You've got a little blood..." Jim said, lifting a paw to his own face to show where.

Sebastian flicked out his long, broad tongue on the wrong side, thinking Jim was acting as a reflection to him.

"No, other side. Here..." Jim leaned in and licked up the blood in two firm swipes. When he came away he saw that Sebastian had frozen perfectly still, only his eyes giving a tiny squint against the setting sun. It was a beautiful face, burnt orange edged with white and accented by black. _My god, he could kill me right now if he chose. He did just eat, but I bet he could still shove me off the cliff without much trouble, or even break my neck. But he's just staring. What is he thinking?_

"Thank you," Sebastian said. His piercing eyes regarded Jim a moment more. Then he said, "You're not what I expected."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Jim dared to move now, backing away a couple of steps before turning to go lie in his favorite spot. The rock was starting to wear to his shape. "It gets cool up here at night. You may lie against me if you like." It was a privilege he did not offer to many. But he couldn't pass up the opportunity for the perfect sleep, completely relaxed in the presence of the one creature no one would dare to challenge. If the tiger turned on him in the night, at least he could die peacefully.

Sebastian didn't move for some time, and Jim supposed that the tiger was probably not tired, most large cats preferring to sleep by day and hunt by night. Jim found himself awake much more of the time than most, however, since he did not have to expend any energy in hunting. He had decided it was better to sleep at night with someone guarding him and be awake during daylight when he could see better. Some other nocturnal animals were adjusting this way too, now that there were no humans to worry about.

When Jim was very sleepy he could just barely hear the tiger's paws padding over to him, the great body settling behind him. Then he felt the sheathed knife rest against his side as Sebastian settled his large head on Jim's back. Jim smiled and nestled his head in his paws. Tonight he would be warm and safe.

* * *

Sherlock dropped a gazelle foreleg at Mrs. Hudson's feet. "Sorry it's not much," he apologized. "John and I had to leave quickly; there was a pack of hyenas nearby."

"Oh, that's all right; it's a start," the elderly cheetah answered. "I had to get _somebody_ in or else those wretched wild dogs were going to move in. They're not as bad as the jackals, but they don't share, and they have such ridiculously large litters of pups, you know. I can't abide that. This cave has been in my family for generations, and they'll not run me out now!"

"No indeed," Sherlock concurred. "John, this is Mrs. Hudson, as I'm sure you gathered."

"Hello," the ocelot said, politely dipping his head. "It's awfully nice of you to let us in your cave."

"Not at all, not at all. Just see that you keep to the one side over there—I'm not your mother, after all."

"Of course."

"Oh, have you got a limp, poor dear?"

"It's nothing," John said. And really, it _was_ nothing. Just a habit. He'd been hurt in the great dust battle and begun limping then... he just sort of forgot to stop when it got better. It made hunting nearly impossible.

"John is a healer," Sherlock told her. "Experience in the battle."

"Really? Well, now. I don't know if I like the way the lions run things, but there is certainly more order now than there was back then, before all that... dear me, I was still young before the battle, and it's a good thing, too. The chaos, you wouldn't believe. I daresay you were still a kit when the fighting started."

"Not much more than one," John affirmed.

"Well, you two settle in; I'll be having my dinner now." She picked up Sherlock's offering and walked off into her side of the cave.

"You'll like it here," Sherlock told John. "I've even got a blanket from an old human dwelling. Pity new-made blankets are so expensive. If apes were smarter, they could work faster."

"That's slave labor," John said disapprovingly.

"Nonsense; they get paid. They do it willingly."

"They get _underpaid."_

"If they're too dense to know the difference, why should you or I complain? They're happy enough." Sherlock trotted over to his human-made blanket and flopped over on it, exhausted from his efforts in the hunt.

John hung back at first, not really sure if he was meant to share the blanket or not. But the way Sherlock had told him about it made it seem as if that was what he'd intended. So he crept over the uneven cave floor, careful to avoid a little pool made from dripping condensation, and curled up on the blanket's edge. "Pleasant sleep," he offered timidly.

"Pleasant sleep," Sherlock slurred in reply, half asleep already.

* * *

_I know, I know... it's too bizarre, right? Should I just leave it as it is and get back to other, more... more legit fic? I just kept seeing Sebastian Moran getting called "Tiger" and it suddenly occurred to me that if he _were_ a tiger, and Jim were a leopard, that would make Sherlock a cheetah, and wouldn't John be a really cute ocelot... Scotland Yard could be a pride of lions? Maybe I'm just nuts. What do you think?_


	2. A Study In Pride 2

_Okay I'm going to need just a little help, so be sure to read the A/N at the end. Thanks!_

_I got a couple of positive reviews, so I'm going to continue and see what happens. ^^ Oh, and "les gens importantes" means "the important people" in French._

* * *

**Big Game  
**

A Study In Pride part 2

* * *

Jim was pleased to find himself still alive when he woke up. He always imagined that nothing would be more humiliating than waking up dead. He stretched and looked behind him to see Sebastian was still there, wide awake and looking intently into the valley lit by the new sunrise.

"Good morning," Sebastian said, not making eye contact.

Jim wanted the tiger to look at him. He wanted to look into those huge, paralyzing eyes. "Good morning," he answered. "Did you sleep well?"

"Scarcely at all... I'm not used to sleeping at night."

"You'll get used to it." Jim sat up and curled his neck around so Sebastian was forced to look in his face—which would have been a comical sight, had anyone else been there to observe. "Would you like to look over some of the hunting grounds?"

Sebastian focused on his face then, to Jim's satisfaction. "I would."

"Good. Come along; I'll find someone to show you around."

They made their way to the lower ledge where Clem had fallen asleep recently, judging by his deep snores. Jim rolled his eyes. Clem's eagerness to follow orders (not his ability to do so, of course) was his one redeeming quality. Replacing him would be a joy.

"Good morning, good morning!" Jason greeted the two large cats from his perch on a low, scrubby tree.

"Go fly a kite," Jim told him.

"I don't know any kites," Jason sniffed. "Why should I? They're all American..."

"Not that kind of kite! Oh... never mind, bird brain. Anything happening this morning?"

"Your delegates have arrived."

"Oh, is today council day?" Jim chuckled to himself. "I completely forgot."

"Yes, they're prowling round near the watering hole. Now is probably a good time to hold the meeting."

"I suppose it is. Come along, Sebastian. You're going to meet all _les gens importantes."_

"I'm sure it will be very interesting," Sebastian said, without a hint of interest actually coming through in his voice, but a little just visible in his eye.

When they got to the water hole, all the top representatives were there, from the jackals to the wild dogs to the leopards to the dingos to the crocodiles (peeking out of the water with their periscope-ish eyes) to the cheetahs to the hyenas... In spite of all the mistrustful looks, it was an impressive sight, to see so many different predators there, _not__ fighting._ Jim gave them gracious smiles and nods.

"Good morning, everyone. I'm very pleased that so many of you chose to come." A small movement caught his eye and he saw a large spotted cat creeping closer, the better to hear him. "Many of you have staked out areas in my territory, but some of you are new here, and some have come far for this visit. I won't take up too much of your valuable time; by now you've been informed about the way things work in my domain. Some of you will want to stay here with me, others will want to help me extend my borders to your territories, and others will want to learn from me to implement my strategies in your respective realms. So, after this meeting, anyone who will not be staying long is welcome to speak with me first and be on their way. I will deal with you in order of urgency."

Sebastian sat behind Jim and to the side, taking up the protector's position coincidentally, or perhaps instinctively, or maybe he was simply trying out the role to see how it fit him.

"In the meantime, there is an issue I would like to address," Jim went on. "The issue is not a pretty one. In fact, it's quite an unsightly one. It's called 'the baboon.' I detest these creatures and everything about them."

There was a little murmuring from the other predators, neither negative nor affirmative.

"Not only are they some of the stupidest ape-types you can meet, but they are also highly annoying and very destructive—even dangerous."

Here there was some quiet affirmation.

"They do make decent eating, though. So I propose we make a game of it. The overall object is to wipe out all baboons. The goal for each predator group is to take the most down. For the next seven days you will bring your baboon tails to Jason, the secretary bird, for counting. Whichever predator group scores the most kills will be given a lavish feast, compliments of my people. Furthermore, from this day on baboons are not to be tolerated anywhere. They are not to be spared or harbored."

Jim knew his suggestions were a bit radical, but he could see that each group was beginning to size up its opponents and to think about where they had last spotted a troop of baboons. However unorthodox, games begged to be won.

Sebastian gave a little cough... little for a tiger, anyway.

Jim turned to look at him. "You have something to say?"

After clearing his throat, Sebastian said, "What you are suggesting is genocide of a species, not to mention extermination of entire ape-type families. Both are forbidden under Leonine law."

"Thank you for pointing that out." Jim bounded between a group of jackals and the spotted cat that had moved closer earlier and leapt into the branches of a low tree overshadowing the watering hole. "I am Professor Moriarty," he said in a deep, commanding voice. "There is no Leonine law in my territory! Only my own personal Leopardine law. We have no fear of the lions here. Preds don't hunt preds!"

"Preds don't hunt preds!" the jackals echoed, and soon everyone took up the chant.

Jim looked around from his new vantage point and a smile spread over his face. All those sharp-toothed creatures cheering for his cause. How noble. How gullible. How perfect. "No one gave the lions permission to make up the laws!" he shouted over the chanting. "We have a right to choose our own way in our own lands. And I want the baboons gone! Who will help me?"

"Extinction to baboons!" Shouted one of the hyenas. The others soon began chorusing the new line, and then the entire entourage began alternating "preds don't hunt preds" and "extinction to baboons!"

Jim began to laugh in delight. This was power. The heady experience he lived for. He turned his head slightly and looked down to find that Sebastian had moved to the base of the tree and was looking up at him with the faintest smirk... somehow conveying a message of respect. The tiger was in.

* * *

John liked the cave. It felt like home. He did feel guilty that he wasn't able to contribute anything for his upkeep, his limp preventing him from hunting, but he promised Sherlock that soon he would find a place to practice his healing skills, and then other creatures would pay him. The first couple of nights he found it hard to sleep. He was used to a nocturnal schedule. But as cheetahs, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were naturally diurnal, so John decided it was his duty to be the one to change his habits.

Sherlock didn't seem to mind having to do all the hunting for the three of the cave's occupants. Every once in a while Mrs. Hudson was able to contribute something small, but the effort always took a lot out of her, and Sherlock discouraged her from doing so.

One day an egret came to the cave, fluttering its wings excitedly. "White flag, white flag," it exclaimed. "News from the Yard!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Sherlock told it. "I'm not going to eat you if you've got information. But I could change my mind if you're not quick about it."

"Eek," the bird said, eyes popping in fear. "I've come from Lestrade—he says you must come right away, but don't get your hopes up because you're not part of the pride."

"As if I'd want to be," Sherlock snorted. "Where is he?"

"In the southern valley near the stream. One of the cadets spotted a large group of crows down there, and... well you'd better see for yourself."

John sighed. He'd been hoping to watch Sherlock hunt again this morning, but now that the lions had asked for his help, there was no telling how long he'd be gone. The officials always made a mess of everything. Now he'd just be in with Mrs. Hudson all day, unless he dared venture out alone to look for work.

Sherlock looked back at him. "In the dust battle," he said, "you saw a lot of death, I'm sure, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Quite a bit of trouble, too."

"Yes, a lot. Far too much. Enough for a lifetime."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh, god, yes."

Sherlock gave a small smile. "Come along then."

"You're both going out?" Mrs. Hudson called.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson—the game's afoot."

"Don't forget to bring some back for me," she chuckled.

The two male cats followed close behind the egret, crossing the great clearing to the foothills and then following the stream into the valley. There they saw a half dozen lions and one lioness who looked like she had a large chip on her shoulder.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," one of the lions said when they got close.

"Quick is my middle name," Sherlock replied boastfully.

"Who's that?" the lion demanded, indicating John with one forepaw. "Bring a sack lunch, did you?"

John's eyes, which already looked a bit large for his face, widened in fright and indignation.

"Don't be absurd," said Sherlock. "John, this is Captain Lestrade. Lestrade, my friend Doctor Watson."

"Doctor, eh? Under whose teaching?"

"I earned the title in my training for the great dust battle," John answered, trying not to squeak. Why did the lion have to be so... large?

"He's my colleague," Sherlock said.

"Oh, is that right? We sent for you, not you and an optional date."

"I want his professional opinion," Sherlock said, insistently.

Lestrade gave a grudging sigh. "I'll give him two minutes on the scene."

"And the scene is?"

"This way." Lestrade led the way past the other lions.

The single lioness hissed "Hello, freak" to Sherlock as they passed.

"I'm not the one trying to pull a gender role-reversal, Sally," he muttered in return.

"One of the boys saw a murder of some two or three dozen," Lestrade said, recapturing John's attention.

"Two or three dozen?!" John exclaimed. "Who could kill so many people in one day?"

Sherlock winced. "In this case, John, 'murder' refers to a group of crows."

"O-ohhh..."

"Carry on, Inspector."

"When he got closer he saw the carcases and decided to report it. It's a most unnatural scene."

John caught the scent of a recent kill, and soon he could see the carcases of several animals. Another few steps and he recognized them as baboons.

"You've kept the cadets off the scene?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"No one's touched it but the carrion birds, and we've kept them off since dawn."

"Good." Sherlock looked carefully at the ground, choosing his path very slowly as he made his way among the bodies.

"So, how'd you get mixed up with Sherlock Holmes?" The lioness had crept up to sit beside John.

"We share a residence," John said flatly, not caring to explain himself to a stranger.

"If that's all, how come you came out here with him?"

"Any reason why I shouldn't?"

"He's tried to make friends before... but he doesn't have real friends. I don't think he knows how."

_Well, I doubt anyone else would be willing to live with me,_ John thought to himself. _Other species always complain that ocelot territory is marked too strongly. But maybe Sherlock doesn't care because he's so odd that no one else would be willing to live with _him. "What do you care?"

"Just trying to give you a friendly warning. Sherlock's tried coalitions before, and it never works out. Not even with his own brother."

John did his best not to look surprised. He didn't want Sally to know he hadn't known Sherlock had a brother. "Er... what do you mean 'coalition'?"

"Cheetah males often live with one or two other male cheetahs. That's a coalition. A lot of cheetah brothers live that way. Not Sherlock. He's got to live with some old surrogate mummy and whatever other stray that can stand him for more than five minutes at a time. Not strong enough to live on his own, not tolerable enough to have real friends."

John wanted to say something in Sherlock's defense, but in the first place he really didn't know Sherlock well, or much about cheetah behavior, and secondly, talking back to a lioness didn't seem like a good idea. So instead he changed the subject. "Why are you out here with the cadets?"

"I _am_ a cadet," she sniffed. "I decided there was more to life than hunting and breeding. I'm the last of my generation... when my father was run out of the pride, all my younger siblings were killed. I'm someone special, and I want to have a place of authority one day."

"You... you're working for the lion that chased off your dad and killed your little brothers and sisters?"

"The pride leader is my half-brother anyway. You don't understand our ways."

"No, I suppose I don't."

"John," Sherlock called. "Come over here, but try not to disturb the paw marks."

John nimbly picked his way over the ground until he came to stand by Sherlock.

"What do you make of it?" Sherlock asked.

Feeling a bit unprepared, John surveyed the signs left by predators and got closer to a couple of the carcases for closer inspection. "Well, there were several predators," he began. "Prey was killed with teeth alone, no claws; paw prints look canine... smallish, so I'm guessing jackal?"

"Excellent. Black-backed or side-striped in this region; my guess is black-backed. Continue."

"There were at least three of them... probably more."

"I'd say five to seven."

"Seventeen corpses, with evidence of others being dragged away..."

"Three others certainly; there may have been a fourth."

"Since they killed the entire troop, I'd say they expected the baboons to run but the adults turned to fight... they were forced to kill them all or abandon the hunt. Then, having killed more than they needed, they dragged a few away to avoid conflict with scavengers here."

"Not quite. When would you say they were killed?"

John sniffed one baboon. "Certainly before dawn, but not before sunset yesterday." He sniffed again. "I'd put time of death between midnight and two."

"That makes sense for jackals; they're instinctively nocturnal. But there are things about this scene that don't add up... What would you say is the strangest similarity all the corpses have?"

"They're all missing their tails," John answered immediately.

"Precisely. This wasn't a hunt gone wrong. It was an organized slaughter. Come on." Sherlock led the way back to Lestrade. "I've got all the information I need; you may clear up the scene now."

Lestrade gave a nod to one of the other lions and they moved forward to drag the adult carcases away. "What do you make of the missing tails?"

"Seems like psychotic behavior," John put in. "Like serial killings... taking a trophy off the victim."

"Six or seven serial killers working together?" asked Sherlock. "I think not. For that matter, six or seven jackals working together is almost unheard of. They sometimes convene round a scavenged carcase, but they don't hunt in packs. They live together in pairs, rarely keeping their young on their territory more than a year or two. This is most unnatural behavior. And even considering how many of them there were, they dragged away three large adult baboons and possibly another, smaller one. Rather a lot of food for their number."

"You think some of it was taken as payment to another carnivore?" asked Lestrade.

"The infamous leopard?" John asked in awe.

"We don't know that. And don't go spreading any rumors. It wouldn't look good to the public."

"No," Sherlock said sarcastically. "God forbid there should be any doubt in the abilities of the Leonine government."

"You mind what you say. I want you to find out why this happened and who's responsible. We have here a clear case of DAFG. It can't go unpunished."

"DAFG?" asked John.

"Decimation of an Ape-type Family Group," Sherlock supplied. "Because apes are the most adept tool-users and they are primarily vegetarian or omnivorous, they are protected as a group to ensure the survival of all species. Preying on individuals is legal, but wiping them out like this is forbidden."

"I see."

"Best learn quickly if you want to survive the savannah, puss," Lestrade told John sternly. "You rainforest people may get away with more where you think Leonine law doesn't apply to you, but around here it's strictly enforced."

"Yes, sir," John squeaked.

"I would like to take a specimen home for further study," said Sherlock.

"Very well," Lestrade agreed. "Take one of the juveniles."

"Pick one out and get it home, will you John?" Sherlock prompted.

"Oh... er, yes. All right."

"I'm going to see how far I can follow their trail."

"If you find anything, don't rush in on your own," said Lestrad. "Here, we'd better get you a radio just in case."

John wanted to stick around and see Sherlock get outfitted with a radio—he hadn't seen one since the battle. But he had instructions to follow and he didn't care to be near the lions any longer. He dragged one of the young baboons back the way he had come and paused when he got to Sherlock again. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

Sherlock smiled down at him. "Don't worry about me, John. You just get that back to the den."

* * *

John was extremely curious to know what Sherlock would find, and more than a little worried. His preoccupation with his thoughts and his task caused him to be less cautious than he should have been. He suddenly found himself flanked by two warthogs. In that instant his will was torn—drop the baboon and run, try to take it with him, stand and fight...? He had never confronted a warthog before, but he had heard that they were quite dangerous and could even force a cheetah away from its kill if they came in sufficient numbers. But before he could decide what to do, one of the warthogs spoke.

"Don't be alarmed; we mean you no harm. But someone would like to see you."

"Sh-shoneone...?" John repeated, awkwardly speaking around the burden hanging from his mouth. "Who?"

"Come with us and you'll see. Here, sling that sorry creature over my back and I'll carry it for you."

"How fick you fink I am?"

The warthog rolled its beady eyes. "I'm not going to make off with your dinner. If that's what I was after, I'd have gutted you by now."

John noticed for the first time that the warthog's lower tusks looked razor-sharp. He gulped. _Nothing to lose, I guess... if I have to run I'll have a better chance without the weight anyway._ He swung the carcase over the warthog's back. "Er... thanks," he muttered.

They walked in silence for a very long way. It began to grow cloudy overhead. The rainy season was officially over, but John hoped they might get one more good storm before the long drought. Dry season made everyone so disagreeable, always hot and thirsty, never enough game to go around. The last one had made John long to be back in the rain forest. He doubted he would ever see it again.

At last they reached the cover of a sparsely treed area with thick bushes under it. _There must be good ground water here,_ John mused. He wondered if the area stayed green in the midst of the dry season.

"In there," the second warthog spoke for the first time, indicating the opening of a sort of tunnel through the bushes. "We'll guard your cache while you're gone."

John didn't like it. He looked from one of his escorts to the other, then peered inside and sniffed tentatively. As far down the tunnel as he could see, very little light filtered through the bushes. "Who's in there?" he asked uneasily.

"Our boss. Wants to make your acquaintance is all."

He knew they weren't going to take no for an answer. And he wasn't sure he could outrun them. If only he knew what warthog stamina was like, he might chance it... _What would Sherlock do? God, I wish he were here._ Taking a deep, steadying breath, John reminded himself that he'd been trained as a soldier, and it was time to act like one. With great determination, he set one paw in front of the other and entered the tunnel.

Even though he took his time, his eyes had barely begun to adjust to the darkness when he neared the thicket at the end of the tunnel where there was almost no light at all. A pair of eyes glowed faintly in his direction.

"Who are you?" John asked, trying to sound bold. "Why did you have me brought here?"

"I hope you weren't inconvenienced or frightened," a fairly high, but decidedly masculine voice said. "I just wanted to chat with you about Sherlock Holmes."

_You and everyone else,_ John thought. "What about him? What's he to you?"

"I'm concerned for him."

"Who are you?"

"He'd probably say I'm his enemy... maybe his greatest enemy."

The eyes moved in the darkness and for a moment John caught sight of a spotted pelt in a tiny dapple of light that had found its way through the thicket's dense ceiling.

"So, you're his enemy, but you're concerned for him? That doesn't make sense."

"Oh, but I am. So much so that I'm not content merely to observe from a distance. I want someone to... surveil him for me. Look after him as it were, and report back to me."

"You want me to spy on Sherlock for you?"

"You would, of course, be compensated. I understand you tragically have a limp you acquired in the great dust battle; it prevents you from hunting, isn't that right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I could see to it that you never need to hunt again."

"So... you're bribing me to spy on Sherlock?"

"You'd be doing a favor to both of you. And incidentally, I know a lot about you. I know your ear twitches from time to time—another sign of your post traumatic stress acquired in the war. It happens when you're uneasy. How is it now?"

"Fine," John declared, beginning to feel angry with this creature who claimed to know so much about him. "It's just fine. Not a twitch, not a shiver."

The thicket's occupant laughed softly. "I thought as much. You _were _changed tragically by that battle, Doctor. But the truth is you don't fear the death and the blood and the tearing flesh... you _miss it._ You haven't limped once since you left the cave with Sherlock this morning, isn't that right?"

John gasped. _My limp... surely I must have._ But no, he hadn't struggled at all to carry the young baboon; he must be right. The limp wasn't there.

"You see, I know more about you than you know about yourself. I know a great many things. But I never know if Sherlock is all right, and that is why I want your help."

"I'm not helping you." John was properly angry now. "And I don't need your help either. We're getting on just fine. May I go now?"

A silence... John wondered if this was the part where he got his throat ripped out.

"You're very loyal to him, having known him so short a time." Another silence. "You may go. But consider my offer. You may change your mind."

John backed a few steps away, then turned and loped back up the tunnel. He squinted his eyes tight when he burst out into daylight. A low rumble of thunder told him that his hopes of rain were going to be realized soon.

"Oi, don't forget your... thingy," called one of the warthogs.

John nearly ran on without the baboon, but after all he'd been through he decided it would be terrible to have nothing to show for it. He pulled himself together and went to take the carcase back. "Thanks," he muttered and trotted off. About a hundred yards later he remembered some of the words of the glowing-eyed creature and suddenly his limp returned. "Dammit," he muttered to himself. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

_Who the hell was he, anyway? It can't have been a lion because it was spotted. Can't have been a jackal either, then. Wrong shape for a wild dog. Might have been a hyena, I suppose, but it looked more catlike. _Suddenly John felt an ice-cold fear in his stomach. A cat that had warthog minions? Other creatures at beck and call, doing his bidding? Could this be the leopard rumored to be taking away authority from the lions and extending his territory...? John took a quick look around to see if he was being followed, shuddered and hurried onward as best he could with his limp and his burden. The sooner Sherlock got back to the cave, the better.

* * *

_So, here's my problem: If I keep going with this and develop the relationships between the characters more, is it going to be too kinky? Because while they're highly personified, they're still animals. You know that part in The Lion King where Simba and Nala tumble down the hill and Nala gives Simba **that look** and you think (unless you're a straight girl, of course) 'Dang, Nala's so hot!' and then you think 'Wait, am I perving on a cartoon animal?' It's weird, right? So, I want your opinion before I go any further. Do you just want light, cute, fluffy-animal stuff going no further than lime at the most, or do you want no-holes-barred, whatever happens happens, they're personified enough that it's okay... stuff? I don't want to traumatize anyone... but I think I could do either. :p Might have to change the rating though. lol Please tell me what you think.  
_


	3. A Study In Pride 3

_Still could use more opinions (see author's note at the end of the last chapter) so please leave yours in a review if you haven't already. I got two go-aheads but I want enjoyment for the maximum readership, so if too much would squick you I want to know. Enjoy the new chapter. ^^  
_

* * *

**Big Game  
**

A Study In Pride part 3

* * *

Sebastian placed one paw in front of the other, creeping closer to the zebra herd. The growing wind brought their scent to him in intoxicating waves. The tall grass concealed him from them, but he knew there was a group of giraffes close by, and their long legs and necks lent a very advantageous view to their large, foolish-looking eyes. If the giraffes spotted him, the zebras would scatter.

It was a challenge, to be sure. Sebastian had never hunted near giraffes before he came so far south. But the challenge was the fun, after all. He spent nearly an hour moving forward a dozen feet, watching each zebra in turn, trying to determine which would be possible to catch but also a satisfying kill.

When one of the half-grown youngsters wandered a bit closer to him, he saw his opportunity and sprang forward. As he sailed toward his quarry, the young zebra halted in its tracks, crouched and leaped in the other direction. Sebastian hit the ground close behind it and took off again. The zebra's next stride took it sharply to the side, but Sebastian reached out one long foreleg and raked his claws over its hindquarters. The scent of blood honed his focus. In two more strides he crashed down on the zebra's neck, snapping it and driving the black and white creature into the ground.

Immediately, he tore out the zebra's throat and lapped up the blood as it ran out. _So warm and thick and sharp. _Thunder rumbled faintly overhead and Sebastian paused a moment to look at the sky. The storm was far off yet, but he would want to find cover soon. When the flow of blood slowed, he clamped his jaws around the zebra's torn neck and dragged it toward the hills.

He wasn't too surprised to see Jim coming toward him a few minutes later. He didn't pause.

"May I help you with that?" Jim asked pleasantly.

"You're offering to work?" Sebastian asked, slurring in mock incredulity around the zebra's neck.

Jim only smiled and caught hold of one of the zebra's forelegs. It was easier going after that; they got under an outcropping of rock well before the rain started.

"Hunting by day is an added challenge," Sebastian remarked. "But then, there's an added satisfaction in success." He sat back and eyed the leopard, knowing what was expected of him. "Have you eaten today?"

"Not today, no..." Jim answered carelessly. "I was of course offered a large helping of baboon, but... having had too much of that yesterday, it didn't appeal to me."

"Well, help yourself to zebra; there's plenty here."

"Don't mind if I do." Jim slashed the zebra's belly open and began tugging at the tender insides. "By the way," he said in the pauses when his mouth wasn't occupied, "I'm a bit disappointed you're not taking part in the game. I'd wager you could win single-paw."

"I don't need the prize," Sebastian said with a shrug.

"The feast won't just be meat, you know. It'll be local fruits as well as a few imported goods, and a nice shady spot to lie in afterwards without a care... that doesn't appeal to you?"

"It might be pleasant. But baboon hunting becomes dull quickly, I've found."

"I heard that last night our visiting jaguar took out a small troop all on her own. I can't imagine that was dull."

"You mean that spotted female cat who seemed so keen at the council?"

"That's the one. Striking, isn't she?"

"Indeed."

"I think I might make advances to her."

_Interesting, the things Jim says so casually._ "As a jaguar, she might be used to males rather larger than you."

"She is a lot to love, isn't she?" Jim smiled and licked a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Do you think I'd be wasting my time?"

Sebastian considered. "Well, she is a long way from home and on your territory. I don't think she is in a position to refuse you."

Jim smiled. "Come on, eat. When we're full we'll watch the storm together. We get some fantastic lightning in these parts."

* * *

Sherlock's coat was wet through when he got back to the cave, but he was in a good mood. "John? Mrs. Hudson?" he called. "I hope you saved me some dinner."

"Dinner?" John asked, confused.

"Don't tell me you lost the baboon."

"I thought you wanted that to study."

"Well... I'll keep the head for study, but saying that was mainly a ruse to get Lestrade to let us have a free meal."

"Oh."

"Come on everyone, tuck in."

Sherlock munched happily at first, but then he gave John a puzzled look. "Smells slightly of warthog."

"Oh, yes... well..." John explained his strange misadventure on the way home.

"My greatest enemy?" Sherlock asked. "Well, that could be anyone! Are you sure he wasn't any more specific?"

"He didn't give any name. Just said he wanted me to spy on you."

"Did he offer you payment?"

"Yes. But I told him I'd never do it."

"We could have got an easy meal or two out of him. Think it through next time."

"I was just a bit concerned for my life," John said defensively. "I wasn't at my best for scheming. I suppose you're right, though... I haven't been much help since I moved in."

Seeing John's forlorn look, Sherlock said, "Never mind; we'll take you to the Leonine hospital tomorrow and you can apply there."

"Leonine this, Leonine that," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Soon no one will be able to have a respectable job if it's not connected with the lions."

"A temporary necessity. Once the drought sets in, no one else will be able to afford to pay John for his services. That's why Molly works there in the off-season."

"I know... but it seems like they're taking up the causes they fought against in the dust battle—all those snow leopards and Indian leopards and lynxes trying to rid the world of all predators that weren't feline... now it's as if the lions won't be satisfied until they're the only ones with any freedom."

"We won't get anywhere by running from them. Better to turn their own system against them. You'll see," Sherlock assured her. "It'll change again one day."

"No doubt you're right. But whether I'll live to see it is another matter. You young things can afford to wait."

* * *

When dinner was over, Sherlock dragged his blanket near to the mouth of the cave so he and John could comfortably watch the storm outside. Sherlock licked his paws which were still damp from being outside. John curled up against his belly, which had mostly remained dry.

"So, how far did the trail lead you?" John asked.

"A couple of miles. Once it started raining in earnest, the tracks and scent were washed away. But I was able to determine that there were six jackals. They paused to feed on the smaller baboon they took away with them. They left nothing but the bones. No tail. Then they dragged the other three on. They were heading south, as I thought they would."

"It's got to do with that leopard, hasn't it?"

"If it is a leopard. Yes, I think it has."

"Do you think... I might have met him today?"

"I doubt it. You might remember your way back to his den, and he'd never want me able to find him."

"You don't seem to think it's a leopard."

"I find it doubtful... but I rather hope that it is. A rogue lion or a tiger far from home seems much more likely able to control so many creatures. But if it is a leopard, that means that he has an exceptional intellect."

"And that's good?"

"Oh, yes. Wouldn't be any fun if he were just another mindless brute." Sherlock reached up with the paw he had gotten nearly dry and swiped at his cold ears.

"Would you like some help?" John offered. He knew what a nuisance it was trying to dry or scratch a spot that was awkward to reach, and he had tended many wounded creatures during the dust battle.

Sherlock paused. "All right," he said. "I'd appreciate it." He lowered his head so John could clear off the moisture with his rough tongue.

"So, er... Molly," John said, dragging his tongue across Sherlock's head and over one ear and then the other. "She a... girl friend?"

"Hardly. She makes a useful associate because she readies predator bodies for burial. Sometimes she is able to help me study carcase decay; other times she's lets me have a body that won't be missed for my own study. She's even gotten teeth and claws for me to use in off-the-books weapons making. She keeps her mouth shut."

"She's not a lion, though?"

"No; she's a caracal."

"And... have you got a girl friend, then?"

"No."

John put one paw on Sherlock's back to steady himself. "A boy friend? Which is fine, by the way," he said quickly, not sure whether he might have sounded nosy or accusatory.

"I know it's fine," Sherlock replied stiffly.

"So you do?"

"No."

"Oh. Good. Er... I mean, okay. It's all good."

Sherlock arched his spotted eyebrow up at his companion. "John... you should probably know that tracking elusive predators is my passion. I can't be bothered with social rituals and mating seasons and—"

"It-it's okay," John interrupted. "Whatever you choose. It's fine. It's all fine."

Sherlock thought he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He also thought he could feel heat radiating off John as he continued grooming a little more awkwardly than before. He decided the best way to put his friend at ease was to act that way himself. He stretched his limbs out and let his head droop.

When he finished, Sherlock thanked John for the grooming.

"No trouble," John said, sounding more relaxed. He curled up against Sherlock again and stared out at the dark, cold rain.

Sherlock shifted position slightly so he could drape his head protectively over the ocelot. _I hope John stays. I really hope I get to keep this one._

* * *

Sebastian was full and content. He folded his limbs under him beneath the rock wall and watched the rain pummel the ground. Jim came after him, licking his chops in satisfaction.

"Did I get it all?" Jim asked.

Sebastian was tempted to say yes and not let Jim know about the large red spot near his eye, but he decided now was not the time to play pranks on his new alpha. He shook his head. "Come nearer and I'll get it."

Jim lowered his face toward the tiger without hesitation. Sebastian licked at the sticky mess, resting his upper teeth against Jim's skin, licking the fur in the wrong direction and then smoothing it down again when he finished.

"Thanks," said Jim. "Do you want to save your leftovers for tomorrow? Because I can get it up a tree for you if you like."

"Generous offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out. Can't have you getting your paws dirty." He lay one paw over both Jim's forepaws, showcasing their difference in size.

Jim smiled the crooked little smile that had annoyed Sebastian when he first saw it, but which was now becoming something he looked forward to. "All right then." He turned to lie in front of Sebastian, leaning back into his soft coat. His pale gray-green eyes sparkled with each flash of lightning. When he finally settled his head on his paws to catch a little sleep, the tiger placed his head over the back of Jim's neck, guarding his most vulnerable area.

_If I'm going to be a bodyguard now,_ Sebastian thought, _I'm going to be a good one. The best._ Everywhere he'd ever lived he had gained an impressive reputation. In the great dust battle he had been scorned for not choosing a side, but also greatly feared, if not respected. It was common knowledge that he'd killed his own father over territory in India and then his mother when she confronted him for the betrayal. To erase all possibility of recompense he had slain his younger brother and sister who were mere cubs at the time. When he heard of a small group of humans still surviving in the Mediterranean he had migrated there and tracked the very last of them down into their tunnels in the earth and emerged again, leaving none alive behind him. After that he had gone south, ever south.

As he traversed what had once been known as Africa he gained the reputation of a solitary traveler that no prey could escape and no predator could challenge. Various groups referred to him as "Lone Tiger," "Phantom Cat," and even "The Striped Lion" by some who had never heard of tigers. He had the feeling that "The Professor's Hitcat" might be his most fearsome title yet. Jim's presence would be felt most, his laws feared and obeyed. But in the quiet of the night, when there should be the noises of insects and night birds but there is only silence, it would be the striped face of the tiger that creatures saw in their haunting dreams, his breath that sent chills up their fragile spines.

* * *

Early that morning after the rain stopped, a secretary bird brought Sherlock a message.

"Wake up, John—it's Christmas!" Sherlock said gleefully.

"What? What's Christmas?" John blinked, only half awake.

"There's been another killing, this one a lion, seemingly _completely_ unrelated to the baboon massacre. Isn't that lovely?"

"All right, all right," Mrs. Hudson's voice came from the back of the cave. "No need to wake the entire savannah."

John sat up and stretched very slowly. "Not... enough... sleep," he grumbled.

"Oh, pull yourself together! Come on."

Sherlock led the way out of the cave and across the grassland and followed a little trail John had never been on before. At last they came to an old human dwelling which had been taken over by the lions.

"This is the Leonine hospital, John," Sherlock told him.

"Oh. Cheers," John said sleepily. "Molly here?"

"I expect so. Ah, here she is."

"Sherlock!" the caracal exclaimed, bounding forward and rising slightly on her hind legs to nuzzle him.

"Er... hello, Molly. This is my new companion, John Watson."

Sensing a lack of reception to her affectionate greeting, Molly backed off and turned to John. "Oh, what lovely markings," she said.

"Thanks, you too," John said awkwardly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John clearly wasn't thinking. Caracals had very few of anything that could be called "markings." No doubt the young doctor liked the look of her—probably something about the ear tufts—and had temporarily taken leave of his senses. He could only hope that he would snap out of it soon.

"I hear there's been a lion killed," Sherlock prompted.

"Yes... yes, this way," Molly said. She led them to the back room where a young lioness was laid out on the dirt floor. "Snake bite," she reported. "Not a common death for a lion, but not unheard of. Funny thing is, there was another case just like this a few days ago."

"Another lion?"

"Yes, one of the cadet males."

"Snakes don't go on killing sprees, do they?" asked John. "They only attack such large animals when threatened?"

"Ordinarily that is the case," Sherlock agreed. "They're rather a lower life form... their speech and understanding is considerably below that of most mammals. Still... deadly enough. Where was she bitten?" he asked Molly.

"Foreleg. The last one was bitten in the face."

"No sneak-attack, then. Very interesting." Sherlock leaned in close to look at the bite wound, then sniffed the lioness all over. "Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. John?"

John moved in to take a look. "Definitely a pre-mortem snake bite," he agreed. He nudged the bitten limb with his paw. "Judging by stiffness, I'd say she's been dead a good six hours."

"That would figure," said the voice of Lestrade from behind them in the doorway. "She went missing about seven hours ago. We found her up on stony ground in the foothills. No idea what she was doing there."

"Where was the last victim found?" asked Sherlock.

"Across the grasslands in a wooded area. He had no reason for being there that we could tell."

"Have you determined the type of snake?"

"I've identified the venom," Molly reported. "It's an Egyptian cobra."

"They don't usually come this far south, do they?"

"Not usually," agreed Lestrade. "And considering how far apart the victims were, it's doubtful it was done by the same snake."

Sherlock swished his tail in thought. "Unless... unless it was acting on someone else's orders. Someone with a vendetta against the lions."

"Preposterous. Snakes aren't intelligent enough to carry out detailed plots."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Any creature can be manipulated if one knows how. I think we're dealing with a very clever and malicious killer. Is it only your pride that's had snake killings lately?"

"I don't know; I'll send messengers to the prides nearby to find out."

"Do that. Let me know the moment you hear anything."

"I think..." John started.

"What is it?"

"Well, as you need to communicate so often, but the lions don't like to spare their radios, why don't you set up a telegraph wire from the Yard to our cave? You could send messages in Morse. Just an idea. We, uh... we used Morse in the battle."

"That's a capital idea."

"And _who_ do you propose puts it up?" Lestrade demanded. "I suppose you expect us to give our time and effort while you civilians sit back and get a free communications system..."

"In the end it would save you resources," Sherlock cut in. "You wouldn't have to tip so many egrets and secretary birds."

Lestrade sighed. "I'll put it to the chief if I have opportunity, but don't count on it."

* * *

"He's got some notion that it would be worth our while to put up a telegraph line between the Yard and his den. I told him—"

"Do it."

Lestrade looked up in surprise. "But... but Chief..."

"You and the cadets have shown me in the last few days that brute force is all you're good for. That cheetah has a brain and we need to take advantage of it. Anything that makes us better able to do so, give him."

"Very well... you know best." It was difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The alpha lion was actually Lestrade's half brother, just as he was to Sally, and to add insult to injury, Lestrade was a month older. He'd had it suggested to him that he take over the pride when his father was gone, but he had liked his place with the cadets—then. Now, kowtowing to his little brother, Lestrade wasn't so sure he liked it anymore.

"As for this snake danger, I want all cadets outfitted with radios when they're on patrol, and advise all lionesses to stay with their cubs close to headquarters when they're not out hunting. Keep a lot of birds around as lookouts and messengers. We need to catch this snake in the act or find his lair. He must be stopped."

"Yes, chief."

"Any word about the baboon slaughter?"

"Holmes determined it was done by jackals, but he thinks they're working in organization for some unknown purpose. Still looking into it."

"Very well. Report with any updates." The pride leader went back to his shaded area and lay down to sleep.

For a moment Lestrade envied him: able to delegate responsibilities, rarely needed to defend their territory or help in a hunt... still, he believed in doing his job and doing it well, whether it was considered well done or not.

* * *

_So yeah... the weird plot is thickening goopily... or something. Again, if you're weirded out by the possibility of animal sensuality please say so now. Otherwise I'll assume the readership is okay with it and not censor it very closely.  
_

_Incidentally, do you like certain elements from Sherlock getting translated into big-cat-ese? I find it funny... that's the crack-ness of it, particularly Sebastian being the Tiger. :p_


	4. A Study In Pride 4

_Thanks for reviewing! ^^ I seem to have a couple avid followers and either no one else is reading or they're too shy to admit it. lol I'm glad you're enjoying learning about animals along the way—it's crazy how much research I'm putting into this crack. xD_

_Looks like I'll just go ahead and write whatever... I'll try to warn you of anything graphic._

_Cat trivia: A female cat may be called a molly or a queen. Well, I've already got a "Molly" in this story... *knowing smile*_

* * *

**Big Game**

A Study In Pride part 4

* * *

John could scarcely believe it when he saw the lions putting up the telegraph wire. They had to employ the help of some of their messenger birds to attach the wire at the top of the poles, and it looked like a lot of hard work to dig the holes in the hard-packed ground, but they were doing it anyway, working steadily away.

"Would you like me to run the wire for you?" John offered. "I'm quite a good climber, and I think I could handle it better than your birds."

Lestrade turned a grumpy look on him, but he said "Very well, you can try."

John took the spool of wire in his teeth and ran up the newest pole easy as anything. He clung to the back of the pole with one paw while he used the other and his mouth to loop the wire around its keeper. Then he began backing down again, paying out the wire from the spool as he went.

"You're out of a job, beaky," one of the cadets told a secretary bird. "He's much quicker than you and he don't even have wings."

The bird huffed. "Good. Rotten job anyway."

"That's enough," said Lestrade. "Watson, we'd be glad to have your help if you're willing to go on."

"Of course." John looked back toward Sherlock who was standing near the cave mouth. "You won't be needing me for a bit, right?"

"I'll just go and get lunch," Sherlock answered. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

So John went on helping the lions put up the wire. He found the work enjoyable at first, and not too unpleasant even when he was tired. There were so few trees near the cave and he rarely had any reason to climb them. He missed climbing. _If it weren't for this damn leg, I'd..._

Suddenly John slipped. He yelped in surprise, dropping the wire spool, and clung to the pole.

"All right there, Watson?" Lestrade called.

"Y-yes," John said shakily. "It... it's just my leg. I think I need to take a rest." He backed down carefully, trying his best to avoid using his injured foot. A few feet from the ground, he let go and dropped the rest of the way.

"There are only a few poles left," said Lestrade. "You go and rest in the shade. We'll manage."

"Thank you... sorry about that." John cursed his leg all the way back to the cave. _It's healed. I should be able to use it all right._ He drank from the little pool inside and stretched out on Sherlock's blanket.

XXX

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" the jaguar asked in a strong voice.

"I should think everyone would want to see you," Jim answered, blinking seductively. "I heard you're doing well in the game... are those your baboon tails hung about your collar?"

"Yes. I had a chimpanzee sew them."

"A chimp? It hadn't any qualms about your slaughtering other ape-types?"

"I made her an offer she couldn't refuse. I promised not to eat her if she did it for me."

Jim smiled. _She's my kind of charming._ "Nicely done. Tell me: What do you think of Leonine law?"

"It's a wonderful thing—for the weak. For you and me, it is something to be manipulated. A great game for us to play, twisting the rules to our own advantage."

_Better and better._ "What is your name, my dear?"

"I am Irene Adler. Better known as 'The Queen.'"

Oddly enough, Jim had heard of her. She was the Amazonian jaguaress who traded her atypically rough services outside her normal estrus cycle in exchange for protection and offerings of food. She had a reputation for servicing several males in a short time, and for being extremely dominant. In spite of her frequent activity with the opposite sex, she had yet to raise any cubs due to her careful planning and unusual self-control during the time that her instincts and hormones told her it was actually time to mate.

Seeing his look, she said, "So you've heard of me."

"My dear lady, I'm sure there are few cats who haven't. Your reputation certainly precedes you."

"As does yours."

"And what do you intend to do after the game is over?"

"That depends on whether I win."

"And if you win, what will you do?"

"Enjoy my spoils, naturally." She smiled, obviously pleased with the idea. "I may well settle here for a time, if I gain enough prestige through this game of yours. Though I do hear that it is unbearably hot during the dry season, which is nearly upon us. I may miss the forests."

"If you do stay, I can see to it that you are kept comfortable," Jim said, glad to have found an easy way of introducing his proposal. "I believe I could use an associate of your obvious skill."

"Use how?" Her tone was guarded.

"Information. Information is worth more than meat or water or territory or strength. Because with information you can acquire everything else."

"That is very true. It's all a matter of what you know. If you know someone's weakness, you can get anything from them."

"Precisely. And a queen of your charms is certain to have an easy time of acquiring information."

"I can see the promise of a business relationship. But if I do not finish well in this game, I may decide to go back to the jungle where I am already well-respected."

Jim shook his head. "Even if you don't win, I can help you establish a reputation here."

"I don't wish to live in your shadow."

"You wouldn't. The public would see you as an independent. You would build the reputation yourself; I would simply give you the means to do so."

Irene looked at him in silence, flicking her tail back and forth in thought. "Very well," she said at last. "Let us say that I'm very interested in your offer. We can solidify terms after the game is done."

"There is one other thing."

"Yes?"

"Although your reputation in your own territory is quite substantial, things are different on the savannah. I'd like to be sure that your methods are viable here."

She wasn't naïve; she took his meaning immediately. "After the game."

"What if I don't want to wait that long?"

"Then I'm sure you'll console yourself with your sense of chivalry and make do until then."

"My sense of chivalry," Jim chuckled, "exists only... out of irony."

She turned to go, but looked back at him coyly. "I think I like a chivalrous hipster."

Jim felt some primal exclamation trying to burst from his throat; to avoid releasing it he compressed his breath in a long sigh so tight that it vibrated his purring mechanism. _Her personality certainly lives up to its reputation, as do her looks. I hope to god the rest matches up, too._

* * *

John woke with the dawn. Sherlock wasn't up yet. The cheetah was sprawled out over three quarters of the blanket, leaving very little room for John, but he smiled fondly at his companion. He did work very hard to keep them all fed; he deserved all the space he wanted.

John got up and padded quietly over to take a drink from the pool. He wondered if he would hear back from the hospital today. He knew that his relatively small size made the lions think he wasn't much use in emergencies, but he hoped he had demonstrated his expertise to them sufficiently that they would offer him a position.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping sound that seemed impossibly loud in the previously silent cave. After his surprise ebbed, John sprang from the pool and ran to the little telegraph station the lions had set up in a niche in the side of the cave. He tapped the transmitter key several times to convey that he was receiving. Taking up a chunk of charcoal, he began to scrawl out the Morse message on a sheet of vellum. He was grateful to his military training for his knowledge of the code, but he wished he had practiced to develop neater writing. _A doctor should have better paw coordination anyway,_ he chided himself. But it was some consolation to him to know that Sherlock's reading and writing skills were much poorer than his own.

Like most animals, lions were not coordinated enough to handle reels of paper or changing out ink ribbons, so this telegraph was a simple sort that relied on the person receiving to decode it as they heard the beeps, rather than pulling it out on a paper strip. John had to make a few corrections based on context before he got it right, but he was proud of himself for not having to request the message to be repeated.

"Is that from Lestrade?" Sherlock asked from behind him when the message was complete.

"Yes. He says to come to the foothills immediately."

"The foothills, not the hospital," Sherlock mused. "I'd say that means we have an actual crime scene to investigate. It's near the Yard, so I'm guessing another lion has been killed. Though it could be another baboon slaughter."

"Don't know which is worse... it's disturbing to think of a serial killing snake or some snake-charming animal, but then again hearing about all these predators banding together to kill baboons, I mean—what next?"

"Snake-charming animal...? Nonsense."

Lestrade was quick to give them the details when they arrived.

"Another male cadet. He was bitten in the throat. Autopsy hasn't been made yet, but for now we're assuming it was an Egyptian cobra. The bite certainly looks the same."

"He's still wearing his radio," Sherlock observed. "No one had any messages from him?"

"No. Radio silence all night. No one noticed him missing. Another cadet came upon him just before first light on his way out on patrol."

"Any idea what he might have been doing out here?"

"None. He had no orders to be out."

"Fascinating."

"One of our cadets just died, Holmes. I'd thank you to show a little less... enthusiasm."

"All right, captain. But you know how this intrigues me. Each death compounds the data, solidifies or eliminates theories. Each lion was killed out of sight of the Yard. None had any good reason to be where they were found. All were killed by a snakebite. None showed signs of any other physical harm. All were killed at night."

"We had guards posted last night, but he wasn't one of them. Either Toby left the Yard of his own free will, or someone invisible sneaked in to fetch him. In any case, he had to have deliberately avoided the guards to keep from being seen."

"Thank you; that's very useful."

"How?"

"It eliminates some possibilities. And whenever you determine and rule out what is impossible, you are left with the truth. Elementary."

John smiled tiredly. Sherlock was literally having a field day. In spite of the grim scene before them, it was nice to see his friend enjoying his work.

"At the moment I see three possibilities," Sherlock declared. "Possibility one: Toby, in a show of bravado, decided to set off on his own to try to find the killer of his comrades."

"Unlikely," said Lestrade. "While Toby wasn't a coward by any means, he wasn't one to lead the charge, nor one to disobey orders or go AWOL."

"Possibility two: At some point during the day, Toby received some information unbeknownst to the rest of the brigade which led him to leave in the night and go to his death."

"That seems a bit more likely, but I can't imagine what sort of information it would be."

"Possibility three: someone went to Toby in the night and persuaded him to leave in secret."

"If that's the case, it would have to be someone invisible. Or someone who knew the positions of all the scouts. And who left no scent trail."

"A hawk," John said suddenly, accidentally speaking out loud.

"What's that, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Er... it's just that hawks are known for hunting snakes, and a bird could fly in and out again without being seen by the scouts or leaving a scent trail."

"That's wonderful."

"Thank you." John was quite pleased with himself.

"But unlikely. Hawks hunt by sight and like most birds are therefore diurnal. Our killer is active at night and doesn't eat his poisoned victims. It's doubtful that a hawk would hunt by day, try to catch some sleep and then wake himself up again to go killing by night... still, it's not entirely impossible, so I shan't dismiss the idea entirely."

Somewhat crestfallen, John decided to keep his mouth shut from then on.

"There is another way that the scouts could overlook the killer, or a messenger from the killer—it could be another of your cadets or someone else in the pride who persuaded Toby to leave last night."

"A traitor?" Lestrade asked, bristling visibly. "I cannot entertain such a suggestion."

"Which is exactly why a traitor wouldn't fear being caught... it's unthinkable to the rest of the pride. And yet your society hinges on betrayal. Less than two years ago you ousted your leader and replaced him with a new one. It's the usual way with lions: out with the old, in with the young."

"That's different."

"That's a subjective opinion."

"I'm growing impatient with this conversation, tracker. If you're through, I'd like to get Toby to the morgue."

Sherlock gave the scene a last look and invited John to do the same. John couldn't find anything Sherlock had missed. He estimated that Toby had been dead about five or six hours.

"We heard back from one of the other prides south of here just before you arrived," Lestrade said. "So far they haven't had an incident like this."

"Good."

"They also said they discovered a baboon troop decimation the other day as well. Looked like the doing of hyenas."

"Interesting. If they have more, I may take a trip south soon. Keep me updated."

John kept silent most of the way home. Finally, he couldn't hold his peace any longer and asked, "Who do you think is doing this?"

Sherlock smiled. "I'm not sure. Isn't it exciting?"

Not sure how to answer, John asked another question. "What will you do now?"

"Now I shall go home and think. I shall think over possibilities—suspects and motives and methods. When I settle on one that seems likely, I'll test the theory."

That contented John for the rest of the way home. _This _is_ exciting, _he decided. But he didn't think it would be proper to say so aloud. He concentrated on not being left behind, trotting to keep up with Sherlock's long-legged walk. They were nearly home before he remembered to limp.

XXX

* * *

"How did it go?" Sebastian asked, dragging the zebra hide up onto Jim's favorite ledge.

"Well, I think. We'll have another interview when the game is over. That's a fine skinning job you've done there."

"I've had a lot of practice, though not on zebras. I thought it would make you more comfortable."

"Will it attract flies?" Jim asked, wrinkling his nose.

"I cured it with salt water and then dried it in the sun. It should last all through the dry season at least."

"Good." Jim got up and moved out of the way so Sebastian could spread the hide out. Then he settled on top of it. "Oh, this is much better. Easier on the bones."

"It'll keep you from getting so cold at night, too."

"I hope that doesn't mean you won't be staying."

"No; I won't leave you alone."

Jim half-smiled. "Well, come on then. You go to sleep now so you'll be rested by the time I nod off."

"I'll do my best." Sebastian went to his usual place behind Jim and tossed his head so his knife swung around behind him, out of the way. Then he pressed his body against the leopard's and rested his head on him as usual.

"Night, 'Bastian," Jim murmured lazily.

No one had spoken so informally to him since his mother died, but Sebastian let it go. This was his new profession; he could allow his charge to be a little disrespectful as one of the hazards of the job.

* * *

_Might not be able to post again as soon; busy times coming up. But I'll do my best. ^^ Don't forget to review.  
_


	5. A Study In Pride 5

_Sorry this one took so long! Had to update another story first. Also I've been busy. Hope you like the update!_

* * *

**Big Game  
**

A Study In Pride part 5

* * *

"There's something different this time," Sherlock said excitedly as they trotted toward the Yard. "They sent for us before dawn; it must have been discovered shortly after it happened. We're sure to have a breakthrough this time, John."

John tried to be happy for Sherlock, but he still wasn't used to the new sleeping schedule and being summoned before dawn didn't help. On top of his sleep deprivation, he had to lope a few strides now and then to keep up with Sherlock's trot, and this depressing arrangement reminded him of his limp, and it began to drag him down even more. "Well, I hope so, Sherlock. I'm beginning to get sick of the whole thing."

"Oh, stiff upper lip."

"What does that mean?" John asked irritably. "What good does it do, keeping one's upper lip stiff?"

Sherlock didn't bother answering.

Lestrade seemed deeply upset by the most recent death. It was one of the pride's best hunters, a female in her prime. She lay in a little thicket of bushes. There was a leather strap around her neck with a clip hanging from it.

Sherlock examined the ground and then walked all around the lioness's body, observing her from all angles. He leaned in close and gave a few sniffs, then examined some details before calling John in.

"Bite's on the right foreleg," John observed. "Up almost as high as her elbow." He nudged her and took a sniff, grimacing at the strong smell coming off her. "She's been dead only a few hours, but she smells of carrion."

"Jen liked to roll in it," Lestrade commented. "Don't know why, but it was a regular thing with her."

"But not a regular thing for lions?"

"They're not so likely to do it as other large cats," Sherlock supplied. "Since lions live together in large numbers they have little need to mask their scent."

"Um, her coat's a little threadbare about the back of her neck... old battle scars, I'd guess, but well healed now. Though that area and her hindquarters are where the worst of the stench are coming from..." With sudden inspiration, John speculated, "Perhaps she'd got a lingering notion of malady in her neck and rolling in something soft gave her some relief." _Like my limp still bothers me._

"Very good observation, John. Conclusions are all wrong, of course."

John sighed. He was beginning to get used to this treatment, but it still wasn't pleasant.

"The bite is in an unusual place—less easy to reach than the bitten places on the other victims. Jen was a valued member of the pride, but she sought amorous liaisons outside the Yard."

"What?" Lestrade seemed to erupt involuntarily.

"Also, where's her radio?"

"Her radio?"

"The one she was wearing last night."

"She wasn't assigned one. She's not a cadet."

Sherlock indicated Jen's neck. "But she is wearing the strap issued by the Yard for carrying a radio. She had one last night. So, where is it? Have the cadets scout around for it."

Lestrade gave the order and then came closer to speak in a quiet tone.

"What makes you think she was unfaithful to the Yard?"

"Her serial adultery has nothing to do with her death, I'm sure. But as we all know_—_" Sherlock halted suddenly, looking around at present company. "Well, as we _probably_ all know, during the mating process a male cat will often take hold of the female's neck, whether playfully or for stability."

John wondered how Sherlock knew that_—_but he would never ask.

"The marks at the back of Jen's neck are from repetition of sexual relations over and over, despite the fact she's not at the right point to conceive cubs. A faithful lioness has these marks only for a few days after mating, but Jen's are well-worn over time. As for the carrion smell concentrated in that area and around her hindquarters while the rest of her is kept well-groomed, I think it's quite clear what she didn't want her pride-mates picking up on: that she'd been with a male (or several males) outside the Yard."

Lestrade looked as if he wanted to tell Sherlock he was wrong, but could find no evidence against his conclusions.

"There's one more thing. A faint smell like... like marsh rushes. Not sure what that means yet. But find the radio. It may be important. And besides, it is of course a valuable piece of equipment."

"Once we determine which one is missing, we can send a signal to it and possibly find it by sound."

"Yes. No_—_no, wait," Sherlock said suddenly. "Oh... oh, she was clever. Clever enough to hide her affairs from the pride. And maybe clever enough to plant the radio on her killer without their knowing."

"Without their...?" John gave Sherlock a puzzled look. "How could he not know? Do you think the killer's a kangaroo and Jen just popped the radio in its pouch or something? Animals don't have pockets, you know."

"Lions. Always lions. And always a snake. And an invisible messenger beckoning them to their doom in a secluded location. And the scent of rushes that wasn't at the other sites. Or maybe... maybe it was just so faint that we didn't detect it. Maybe it's because this kill is so fresh. And the radio... Lestrade," Sherlock finally came out of his trail of deduction. "Do you have a way of detecting the radios without contacting their carriers?"

"They do put out a very low-level signal that we can detect with a receiver," said Lestrade, "but it works only at close range and the receiver's very bulky to carry round."

"Well, when you determine which radio is missing, try to detect it. Tell your sentinels to keep an especially sharp eye out_—_the killings are getting closer together. There could even be another tonight."

"No. There will be no more killings. I don't care if he is invisible; no one's getting past the guard tonight."

* * *

The hyenas were winning the game, much to Jim's annoyance. Still, the leopards weren't far behind them, almost tied with the wild dogs for second place, and behind them Irene was holding her own despite being the only jaguar in the game. A rogue lion was playing as well, an old king ousted from the Yard to the north, but on his own he wasn't much of a contender. He came and went from Jim's territory, often choosing to hunt in the wetland and hills where there was more game in the dry season. He probably bothered recording his baboon kills only to show his cooperation with the system, and not because he had any hope of winning.

With Sebastian around, Jim could order anything he liked for dinner and the tiger was nearly always successful in getting it, but if he was out hunting then he wasn't there to protect Jim and make him look impressive. So he kept Sebastian close as much as he could, feeding him from the kills of his minions, letting him hunt only when it was obvious that the boredom and pent-up energy was becoming too much.

"Last day and night of the game," Jason reported to Jim. "The hyenas are still winning by a good margin. Kudu's clan accounts for nearly half their score."

"If we hold this game again, I think we ought to take ratios into account," Jim mused.

"Ratios, sir?"

"Yes; divide the number of kills by the number of animals in each species and count that as their score. If we scored that way now, Miss Adler would be winning easily."

"Hm. Undoubtedly," the secretary bird agreed, though he didn't understand mathematics very well. "The cheetah coalition's doing all right, teaming up with that one female in your territory. That's all worth noting, really. But speaking of your territory, the dry season's setting in."

"And?"

"And a lot of the game, baboons included, are moving north."

"Yes, I suppose they are."

"And therefore, many of the predators are planning to follow them."

"Hm."

"If you're going to stay here, sir, food may be a bit scarce."

Jim knew all these facts already, but he'd been putting off thinking about them. The Serengeti could be quite harsh in the dry season, even now that the continents were back together. "I suppose I could shift north for a bit. Near the marsh, perhaps. But it would have to be someplace with some good caves and tall trees."

"I'll start my birds looking for such a spot right away. In other news, the Yard has been investigating a couple of your sponsored operations, and they've got that cheetah working with them."

"That Holmes cat?"

"Yes, the predator tracker. A jackal told me that a fox told him that an ocelot told him that Holmes is on call to the Yard at all hours, looking over kills and piecing together what's happening. He may already be on to the baboon game."

Jim shrugged. "Let him figure it out. What are they going to do about it? One pride of lions can't take out all the other predators of the Serengeti, and they know it."

"Yes, professor, but there's talk of the marsh area lions helping them out. There have been communications—bird messages and telegrams. If the lion prides begin combining their efforts, it could be a formidable force to deal with. There's even a rumor that the Bureau lions to the west have been in touch about it."

"Interesting. The Bureau and the Yard normally don't work well together; we'll see how that turns out. In the meantime, I want some very subtle surveillance on Homes. I want to know his haunts, his hunting habits, his tracking methods. But he's not to be disturbed. He may prove an amusing adversary."

"Very good. That concludes my report this morning. Do you require anything?"

"Have those useless jackals bring me an appetizer—something besides baboon."

"Right away."

Jim relaxed on the zebra skin and turned to his bodyguard. "Well, I suppose that's that. Game to the hyenas, don't you think?"

"Most probably. You're not fond of them, are you?"

"Hyenas killed my mother. I had to finish raising myself. I was barely a year old. I was fortunate it was the rainy season or I'd surely have starved. I have a healthy respect for hyenas, but I'll never like them."

"It must have been quite a bit of bad luck to make a leopard vulnerable to them."

"Yes; I think she was getting on in years. They caught her as she was trying to take a kill up a tree; still tired from the hunt, not as quick as usual. It's a rare thing, but they managed it. They were a big, bold clan that had been scavenging on her territory as long as I could remember. Still, they do make useful allies, I have to admit."

Sebastian sat at the side of the ledge and looked down at the various animals milling about. "Not so much with Clem?" he guessed.

Jim laughed. "I think Clem's got the least intelligence of any hyena on the plains. But his sense of smell is excellent and he's got good jaw strength. That's why I found use for him. His clan was glad to give him up."

"Is it strange to have so much contact with other animals? Everywhere else I've gone, male leopards have been the most solitary of all."

"Strange? I suppose. Unpleasant at times. But well worth it. My food comes to me. My mates come to me. Others find water for me when it's scarce. My territory stretches for miles beyond anyone else's. I can't complain. Well, I can, but it's a waste of time."

Sebastian smiled at that. "This cheetah you're interested in—once you're done observing him, what do you have planned?"

"Oh, I may kill him. But it may be more interesting to keep him alive. There aren't many I can match wits with. I'd like a worthy rival."

"If you do decide to kill him..."

"You'll be involved, my dear fellow. That I promise."

Satisfied, Sebastian got up and stretched. "Is it all right if I go off for a bit? I've heard of a chimpanzee dealing weapons and I'd like to see if I can get my paws on some firearms."

"I doubt he's got anything in your size, but you're welcome to try. He may have some Lionpaw gauge; that might be large enough."

"I can go, then?"

Jim nodded. "Have fun. But be back before dark."

Sebastian rubbed his face along the side of Jim's, not out of affection but so they could mark each other with their scent. Having this calling card of Professor Moriarty's would ensure Sebastian's safety if his size wasn't formidable enough. In turn, the scent of a tiger would make anyone else think twice about harming Jim in his absence.

When he was gone, Jim smirked to himself. "Good luck with that chimp," he muttered. Then he frowned. "Hang on... did Jason say ocelot? What the hell is an ocelot doing this far east?" _It must be one of those freedom fighters leftover from the dust battle in the Middle East. Does he know Holmes personally? What an odd pairing._

* * *

"Have Lionpaw handgun. No rifle," the chimp said in his broken common speech. In reality he could speak quite well, but he knew that if he seemed ignorant enough, he could get away with more and charge high prices for his services.

"Can you get a rifle?"

"Can send for one. Can send for Tigerpaw, too. Cost extra."

"Cost?" Sebastian arched his orange brow. "I'm the personal bodyguard of the Professor. You can't be thinking of charging me."

"Professor pay for weapons too, same as anyone. Pay well."

"What exactly do you want?"

"I has taste for meat. Young warthog."

Sebastian grunted. _What a pain. I don't mind catering to Jim, but this is ridiculous._

"That for handgun. Rifle cost extra."

"What? You want more? God, you're a demanding monkey."

"No tail," the chimp couldn't help pointing out. He wanted to be seen as ignorant, but everyone should know that chimps weren't monkeys. Monkeys have tails.

"What do you want for the rifle?"

"Rifle take two days relay message by wire. Then two weeks for delivery. Cost of materials very much, cost of delivery very much."

"What do you want?" Sebastian repeated, losing patience fast.

"Want fish and arrow poison."

Sebastian blinked at the chimp. "You're joking. Where would I get arrow poison? For that matter, where would I get fish?"

"Professor deal in poison. Some springs have fish. Your problem."

It didn't seem right to ask Jim for favors, but the leopard had promised him anything he wanted. It also seemed as if this chimp had gotten some poison from him before, so perhaps it wouldn't be a big deal. As for the fish... Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He could swim, and he'd caught fish before, but he didn't enjoy it. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "Place the order and I'll bring the payment. I'll have the warthog by tomorrow."

"Young warthog," the chimp reminded him. "Must be tender."

"You're just lucky I don't see _you_ as tender," Sebastian snapped. "Make sure you have my merchandise ready."

* * *

Within a couple of hours, Sebastian had located a warthog den under an old termite mound. He crept forward through the long grass and waited. There was a large female hog, but he paid her little attention. After a long wait in the punishing heat, Sebastian finally saw a piglet emerge from the den.

It was large—nearly weaned—but it would just have to be "tender" enough. Soon another piglet ventured out, but he kept his concentration on the first. He waited for them to wander far enough from the den and then sprang forward.

The young warthog was more agile than he expected, but he still managed to catch it in a few strides. After that it was just a matter of getting away from the irate mother without dropping his prize.

_Damned chimp,_ he thought to himself. But he plodded stoically back to the acacia trees where he'd left the weapons dealer.

"Here you are. One young warthog," he said coldly.

The chimp grinned and tucked the piglet into a gunny sack. "Good. Very good. Here _you_ are. Lionpaw semi-automatic handgun."

"Do you have a holster for it?"

"Holster cost extra."

Sebastian had had about all he could take. He bared his teeth menacingly.

"But for you, free gift," the chimp amended. He knew when to pick his battles.

Sebastian waited while the chimp fastened the gun holster to the leather strap around his neck where it hung beside his hunting knife. "I'll be back for the rifle in two weeks."

"Two weeks, two days minimum."

"Fine—two weeks and two days," Sebastian growled, wondering how a beast so stupid knew a word like "minimum." The sun was low in the sky. He just had time to stop at the watering hole before going back to Jim's perch on the rocky hillside. It had been a long day, but he was satisfied for now.

* * *

_I should say thank you to all the informative nature programming that can be found on youtube. :p I've learned a lot about lions, leopards, cheetahs and hyenas there, and wikipedia is great too. Not that this story is accurate to nature—my animals are very personified and a little futuristic, like the opposite of steam punk or something._

_Thanks for reading! Please leave me your comments. ^^  
_


	6. A Study In Pride 6

_Lots of people have viewed this story, but only a couple have reviewed. I would like to hear from all of you! It keeps me eager to write more. And even if you read this when the story's been done a long time, I will still enjoy hearing your thoughts.  
_

_As you can see, now that I'm sure the story has a faithful following and I'm going to go on with it, I've gone back and added an individual story title for the parts I've done so far. If there's still interest when I get to the end of Pride, I'll most likely do another one. ^^_

* * *

**Big Game**

A Study In Pride part 6

* * *

"John, wake up."

"I'm awake. Message from Lestrade?" John asked, keeping a paw over his eyes.

"Yes. We need to go right away. Wake Mrs. Hudson."

"What? Why? Let her sleep."

"We may be gone a long time and I don't want to leave her alone at night. She'll have to come with us."

"Oh..." John groaned and pulled himself to his feet with a long stretch. He reluctantly went to Mrs. Hudson's side of the cave and relayed Sherlock's message.

"Oh my, dear me," she said, anxiety and sleepiness both coming through in her voice. "Very well, just give me a moment."

"Where are we headed this time?" John asked Sherlock.

"To the Yard. They've just detected the missing radio. It can't be far from the Yard. The whole pride is awake; no one missing so far."

"Okay... good... um, you take Mrs. Hudson on ahead and I'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure? There are hyenas about. It's not safe at night to travel on your own."

"I'll be fine. I can climb better than any hyena. I'll get somewhere safe if I so much as smell one."

"All right." Sherlock sat by the cave mouth and waited for Mrs. Hudson. "By the way, have you been telling people about my work?"

"A bit." John ducked his head in embarrassment. "There were some interested parties... I just told them a little of what we'd been doing. I didn't give them any particulars of the case."

"I should hope not. And I hope you're sticking to the relevant facts and not romanticizing it; it's a serious scientific work, you know."

"Well yes, of course."

"All right, I'm ready," Mrs. Hudson announced, appearing with a threadbare shawl over her shoulders.

"Don't wait too long, John. We'll see you there."

"All right." John took a drink from the cave pool to stall until the others were out of sight and hearing. Then he crept from the cave and headed for the stream.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson made herself as comfortable as she could under a tree and among the half-grown lion cubs who already outweighed her.

"Lookie how skinny she is," one of them said.

"Is it a gazelle?"

"I'm a cheetah," she declared, a little shocked at their ignorance and lack of manners.

"Is cheetahs good for eating?" asked one of the youngest.

"Certainly not!"

Sherlock half-smiled and then turned his attention back to Lestrade. "You say the radio was within range; how close is that?"

"Within a mile, certainly. Probably closer."

"We should go find it," said one of the newer cadets.

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "Finding the radio doesn't necessarily mean finding the killer. He might leave the radio somewhere to lure you out and then creep into the Yard while it's unprotected. Remember, we still don't know how he communicated with his victims."

"We're keeping radio silence," said Lestrade. "I don't want anyone to miss something due to chatter. Anything routine goes by bird."

Sherlock nodded. He watched the pride's equipment, waiting for the signal to register again. Finally, it did.

"There it is," the pride leader said. "Southeast corner."

"He's just moved it there, so he can't be far from it," said Sherlock. "Send a group down to investigate. And be sure they stay together unless they hear directly from a superior."

Lestrade ordered out four cadets, relaying Sherlock's instructions to them. Then they waited. After a few minutes, the transmitter's red dot showing the radio's location went out.

"Either the battery died or he's taken it with him again," Sherlock muttered. He looked around at the pride—mothers with young cubs, older cubs playing, oblivious to what was going on, cadets pacing back and forth, Sally watching him with a disapproving stare, Lestrade looking anxious. _Who are you?_ he wondered. _How do you move so freely, and what do you have against the pride?_

A sleepy egret flew down to Lestrade. "Captain," it said, "the cadets haven't found anything in the southeast corner."

"The signal's gone," Lestrade told it. "Have the detachment pull back."

"Yes, sir." It flew away again.

The little cubs were restless, wondering why their mothers were so quiet and serious. Jen's orphans, who might not even know of their mother's death yet, huddled around Mrs. Hudson. Everyone seemed so uneasy. Sherlock wished they'd all be silent and just keep calm so he could think. He stared out at the empty night, willing something to appear.

As his nerves began to fray at the ends, Mrs. Hudson approached him. "Sherlock... er, your secretary bird is here."

"I haven't got a secretary bird," he snapped.

"But... but it said..."

"For heaven's sake, be quiet!" Sherlock growled. "Everyone, just shut up! Let me think."

Mrs. Hudson scurried away with a little mew.

Suddenly, Sherlock froze. He turned and looked back at Mrs. Hudson, and then at the bird standing near her. He seemed unable to draw a full breath. _God... I'm so stupid. _He took a step... then another toward the bird. _John said so... well, he said a hawk. But these birds. They fly in and out of the yard all the time, taking messages. No one would think anything of it. And one secretary bird looks much like another. They'd never notice a new one joining the ranks and pretending to be a long-time employee, especially if it took the place of one that was killed._ He stepped up to the bird.

"I've been waiting with your message, Mr. Holmes," the bird said. "Won't you follow me, please?" It hopped away from the group of lions.

Sherlock followed without a word.

"Hey, where are you going?" Lestrade asked.

"Got to check something; I'll be back presently." Sherlock kept his eyes on the bird. When they were well away from the pride, it took flight and he began loping after it.

"Where are we going?" he asked, though he doubted he would get a straight answer.

"To someone who's been wanting to meet you."

"Is it the Egyptian viper? Or the viper's master?"

This time there was no answer at all. He followed on until he was so winded he was about to ask the bird to let him rest. Then he saw the great shape in the near pitch darkness and skidded to a halt.

The facts slid into place like tumblers in a lock. That large profile, a magnifying mane and two eyes catching the scarce light to gleam back at him.

"Hope," Sherlock said. "Sally's father. Former king of the Yard." They'd never found a scent trail... the bird flew into the heart of the pride, and if they ran across Hope's path further out, they wouldn't think much of it because his was the scent of a familiar lion.

"That's right," the old lion said. "And by now you understand how I got the others away from the pride, one by one."

"You sent in your secretary bird with some 'official message' telling them to go to some remote spot. And there you set a snake on them."

"Not quite. It's more clever than that. I fancy myself a bit of a genius."

Sherlock snorted involuntarily.

"Kept you guessing a while, didn't I?" Hope pointed out. "I wanted to take down that pride, to show the new leader that he couldn't keep what he'd taken from me. But I thought, if someone were as clever as me, I'd let them live. They could stay with me and start a new pride."

"But none of them wanted to?"

"None of them guessed right. No one passed the test." Hope leaned down to pick up a leather strap from which hung two baskets. He set them in front of Sherlock. "In one basket is an Egyptian cobra. It'll kill you inside ten minutes. In the other basket is a couple of mice. Nice little snack. You choose one basket. Choose the snake, you die. Choose the mice, you live."

"It's chance," Sherlock said scornfully.

"Not chance, Mr. Holmes. It's chess. And now I'll make my move." Hope reached out a paw and nudged one basket toward Sherlock. "Did I give you the snake basket, or the mouse basket? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple..."

"This is ridiculous. I can outrun you. I'll just go back to the Yard now, and—"

Hope took up an object Sherlock hadn't seen lying beside the lion on the ground. "This is a Lionpaw thirty-pound crossbow. Fancy outrunning _that?"_

Sherlock looked him up and down. "An aged lion shooting a sprinting cheetah in the dark? I don't give much for your chances. And I can tell from the way you hold it that you haven't been trained to use that thing."

Hope grumbled out a sigh. "No one's picked up on that before."

"So, it's been entertaining, but I need to be running along." Sherlock crouched, ready to dash away.

"Wait—don't you want to work out the puzzle?"

"What puzzle? I know how you called the other lions out, I know your motive. Although..." he came out of his crouch. "Why target the young cadets, the hunting females... why not kill the leader and go reclaim your pride?"

"Ah, now that is a good question. It just so happens that another genius got interested in me before you. Got myself a sponsor."

"A sponsor?"

"As you pointed out, I'm not so young as I used to be. I can scarcely hunt and soon I won't be able to compete with my own pride-mates at meals. This sponsor promised for every lion I kill, he'll give me a month's protection in his territory, complete with food delivered to me. I'm building myself a retirement plan."

"But... what's in it for him? Does he have a grudge like yours?"

"It's bigger than that. Much bigger. He's taken a special interest in you. But let me tell you the rest of the rules of this game. I said you choose a basket. But whichever one you don't pick, I open. We open them at the same time, and face what's inside together. I won't cheat, even though I know which is which."

"How do I know there isn't a snake in each, and they're trained not to bite you?" And as soon as he said it, Sherlock realized the answer. "That's why it had to be a secretary bird. They're renowned for snake-killing. If the snake were on your side, you'd have no trouble getting it back in its basket after each encounter. But you used the bird to control it."

"Well done. So now you know. And I'll change the game slightly, just for you: I'll let you open your basket first, and if it's the mice, I'll tell you who my sponsor is before I open mine and die. Have we got a deal?"

_The radio's in the snake basket. Jen knew she was likely to die, so as the lid came up, she reached down into the basket and put the radio in—that's why she was bitten so high on her foreleg. If only some static would come over now, I'd know where it was coming from and he wouldn't. I'd know which basket was the right one._ But he knew he couldn't just stall all night until he heard a sound from one basket. Hope wouldn't have patience for that. Sherlock tried to remember if one basket had seemed to swing more than the other when Hope moved them, if it tilted too far to one side... the heavier one was surely the snake basket. But he couldn't be sure.

_It is chance. Pure chance._ But part of him didn't believe it. There had to be a way that he could know his adversary well enough, that he could judge whether Hope was more likely to offer him the snake basket or the mouse basket. _Some little detail... there must be something._

* * *

Once he had his crossbow, John hurried toward the Yard. _I hope nothing important happens before I get there._ He wasn't sure what the lions would think of his carrying the weapon, but he didn't like the idea of being in the middle of a very large lion pride with no protection. Besides, there was a killer out and about, and Sherlock might be fast but he wasn't terribly strong. Best to be safe.

In fact, when he got close, John decided it wasn't bright at all to just walk into the pride. He chose instead to climb a tree and settle himself on a branch where he could observe the lions and cheetahs in the lights of their machinery.

He couldn't hear much of what was said, but when Sherlock followed a secretary bird out of the dim circle of light, he knew something serious was afoot. He crept down from the tree and followed as quickly as he dared... and then as quickly as he could when Sherlock began to run.

_I'll be left behind,_ he thought desperately. _This damned leg..._ But then John gave himself a little growl and forced himself to dig into the ground. _I'm not going to let this limp stop me tonight,_ he decided. He pushed himself harder and harder, but at last he was exhausted.

"Sherlock..." he panted as he slowed to a walk. _If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself._ He plodded on, desperately sucking in each breath. He could smell his companion faintly. If Sherlock had been going full speed, it would have been a great distance between his strides and his trail would have been terrible to try to follow at night, but fortunately the cheetah had been going at a measured lope.

John was beginning to think the sun would rise before he found his friend, but then he heard voices a little way off. Immediately, he looked around for a tree and scurried up it. He pulled the crossbow off his back and held it at the ready, just in case. Several yards away, he could just make out the forms of two large cats, one long and slender, the other thick and foreboding.

Between his panting breaths, he could hear just enough of the conversation to make out that there was a snake in one of the two baskets in front of Sherlock. At one point, Sherlock seemed ready to leave, and John relaxed a little. But then the lion recaptured his attention.

_What's he saying? Sherlock looks ready to open one of the baskets. But what if there's a cobra inside? He'll be killed!_

"Sherlock," he called desperately, but he was still so ragged after his run and climb that hardly anything came out. The wind didn't help matters either, a slight breeze blowing back in his direction, away from Sherlock. "Sherlock, don't!"

And hardly knowing what he was doing, John lifted his little crossbow. It was small indeed—Caracalpaw, eighteen pound. But the arrow tip was razor-sharp, and John knew just where to send it.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't understand what had happened for a moment. Then, as Hope's great form crashed to the ground and he leaped for cover, he began to understand. Someone had shot the old lion with an arrow. He looked around, trying to see where it had come from, but the darkness still hid all but large, vague shapes.

He turned back toward Hope and saw both baskets had broken open. The viper was already devouring one of the mice, and it was impossible to tell which one had been in front of him anymore. Giving the snake a wide berth even as the secretary bird swooped in to stomp at it, Sherlock went to Hope's side.

"Was I right? Did I choose the right basket?"

Hope made no answer. He was having obvious difficulty breathing as blood oozed from the wound. Sherlock knew the arrow must have pierced a lung at least, maybe both.

"Fine. Never mind that—who's your sponsor? Tell me!"

Hope looked at Sherlock maliciously and shook his head.

Sherlock batted the little bit of arrow shaft protruding from Hope's side. "His name! Give me a name!"

"Moriarty!" Hope screamed. Then he seemed to melt into the ground, and he didn't move again.

Sherlock repeated the name softly to himself. _A most unusual name... it's surely an alias. Still, it's a place to start._

The secretary bird had killed the snake. It gave Sherlock a cocky smile. "So long, tracker. I'll probably see more of you soon, unless I miss my guess." With that, he took off, flying south.

Sherlock nudged the baskets aside and found Jen's lost radio. "This is Sherlock Holmes calling Captain Lestrade. Lestrade, do you copy?"

"Hearing you loud and clear, Holmes. Where are you?"

Sherlock gave Lestrade his location and within an hour, a dozen lions had come out to the scene and a couple of them escorted him back to the Yard.

"Lestrade," Sherlock demanded when he saw the lion, "why is it your cadets keep trying to put this sheet of buffalo hide over me? Are they planning to roll me up in it and have me for dinner?"

"It's for shock, of course. You could very well have died, and then you saw that great old lion killed right in front of you, and the snake got loose... some animals shut down over stuff like that."

Sherlock grasped the edge of the hide with his teeth and pulled it off himself for the third time, but someone just came by and put it back on him a minute later.

"So, we solve one mystery just to get another dumped on us," Lestrade concluded. "We've no idea who shot Hope or why."

"Oh, you know more than you think," Sherlock contradicted. "From the angle, speed and distance, I'd say you're dealing with a smallish animal who can fly or climb trees and is expertly trained in weaponry. I'm guessing small cat predator type with a... Serval- or Caracalpaw..." Sherlock looked across the Yard in the early morning light and saw John standing sheepishly near Mrs. Hudson. "Uh, on second thought, forget what I just said. That's all wrong."

"What?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"It must be the shock talking. I'm in shock. Look at me, I've got a buffalo hide." Sherlock trotted off to his friends. "Come on, you two. We should get back to the cave."

John fell into step with him, and Mrs. Hudson came along behind them.

"I'll send over something to eat," Lestrade called after them. "For your help."

Sherlock nodded to him.

"They um... they were just telling me what happened," John said quietly. "It's really... hair-raising stuff."

Sherlock noted the dark riverbank silt staining John's paws. "Yes, someone just shot the old lion out of nowhere. It was quite surprising. But whoever it was, they might have saved my life. It was quite an impressive shot, too."

John glanced furtively at him.

_Trying to see if I know._ Sherlock returned his look with a solid stare.

Then suddenly John halted in his tracks. "Wait a minute. I can smell him... the strange cat I met that day with the baboons and the warthogs... your 'arch enemy.'"

Sherlock scanned the surrounding yellow-tan grasses until he saw a familiar spotted face and then made out the top of the crouching body. "I know that cat," he said with distaste. "I can deal with him." He jogged toward the other cat. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?"

"I heard my brother was in danger and I came to check on him," the other replied, standing to his full height, which was at least an inch taller than Sherlock at the shoulder.

"He... he's your brother?" John asked in disbelief. "So, when you said you were worried about him..."

"I was worried about him," Mycroft affirmed. "What did you think?"

"But you were so scary... er, so threatening."

"Mycroft doesn't know how to be remotely sociable," Sherlock said.

Mycroft blinked in disdain. "Isn't that the gorilla calling the buffalo black? And by the way, nice blanket. Well, since I see that you're all right, I shan't waste either of our time." He turned and ambled away.

"It's a shame you two can't get along," Mrs. Hudson said.

"No sense in moping over it now," Sherlock replied. "Come along. Today we'll have a nice long sleep and then dinner will be sent to us care of Lestrade. Things are good."

John smiled. He couldn't wait to tell his little listening group about Sherlock's exciting showdown with Hope. _I think I'll call this adventure "A Study In Pride," _he decided.

"Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson said warmly, "you're not limping anymore."

"That's right... I think I'm all done with that limp."

* * *

_So ends the first story. I'm thinking you'll want more... there's plenty more I can do with this idea. But please drop a note to let me know and tell me what you liked about the chapter.  
_


	7. The Blind Baboon 1

_And we're back with another exciting tail... er, tale... xp_

_Thanks for the great reviews. Hope this one turns out to be as much fun as the last._

* * *

**Big Game  
**The Blind Baboon part 1

* * *

Soo Lin the Asiatic golden cat was used to all sorts of verbal abuse during her presentation of ancient relics. There was not yet any fixed economy in the animal world, though carved bones and old human coins were in widespread use, and most of the creatures around her in Africa did not understand the practice of preserving _things_ which you could not eat, use to keep cool or to defend yourself with. Still, she managed to eke out a living from her work. Animals gave her morsels of meat, bright feathers and unusual stones and seashells in payment for the privilege of seeing ancient Chinese artifacts both from human and animal history.

When she finished for the day, Soo Lin carefully packed the artifacts away in their boxes and carried the boxes deep into the cave her landlord called the museum. There were other items there from various countries. Few creatures in Africa valued such things very highly, but they did have a few wonderful specimens from Egypt.

Soo Lin heard a cough behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see the young caracal who had been trying to get her attention almost since she arrived in the area.

"Soo Lin," he said, "I've got the remains of a young steenbok hidden by the stream. Care to join me for dinner?"

"As I've tried to tell you," Soo Lin said as patiently as she could, "I'm not your type. Please don't come round anymore."

The disappointed caracal departed and Soo Lin ambled around the cave, checking the artifacts to be sure nothing was missing or damaged. Pausing in front of one of the time-worn statues, she looked up. Her eyes widened in fright.

* * *

John was quite proud of the fish he had caught, but now he had a problem: getting it back to Bushbuck row. _Simple task,_ he'd thought. _Catch a nice fat fish and be home in time for dinner. I'll be useful in contributing to our livelihood at last._ But a jackal was following him a few paces off, and he wasn't sure he could take the annoying creature in a fight, especially not if its mate showed up.

To make matters worse, the jackal kept barking at him. Soon there might be hyenas on his tail, attracted by the noise.

"Come on, kitty, let us have a bite," the jackal taunted, creeping closer.

John paused to snarl at the jackal, but it was impossible to get out an impressive snarl with his mouth full of fish. _Damn, damn, damn._ He ran on a few steps, but then he felt a nip at his tail. _Ouch! Right, that's it._

He dropped the fish and rounded on the jackal. "Get away from me!" he roared. "You insufferable, mangy little _dog!_" His fears were confirmed when he saw a second jackal bounding toward them through the long grass. _No chance now..._ But he didn't want to give up without a fight.

"Give us the fishy, give us the fishy," the first jackal called.

"Hand it over," barked the second.

"Go hunt for yourselves!" John shouted bravely. "Your mum's a bitch. And your dad's a... a dingo!"

The male jackal growled fiercely while the female actually rolled on the ground laughing.

"Fine," John said in resignation. He nudged the fish forward. "You have that." Bitterly disappointed, he trotted homeward, leaving the jackals to divide his prize.

When he stumbled into the cave, Sherlock was lying on his buffalo hide blanket, looking over some papers.

"You took your time," Sherlock said, not even looking up.

"I didn't get the fish."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, I caught one," John explained. "A nice, big fat one, too. But then I got in an argument with a jackal. Two, actually."

"You fought two jackals?" Sherlock asked in amazement.

"Not exactly. They stood there and I shouted abuse." He looked tiredly around the cave and reflected that it had changed a lot in recent weeks. Sherlock's rising fame had led to nicer furnishings, an upgrade for the telegraph and ID tags for the two of them and Mrs. Hudson. The tags were the lions' way of keeping track of who's who, and who's cooperating with Lionine law. Mrs. Hudson disapproved of them loudly, but she still wore hers when she ventured out of the cave. John and Sherlock often left theirs behind, since they were younger and more confident that they could stay safe without it.

"Take my tag and get something on credit," Sherlock offered. Since he was well-known for being a good hunter as well as a good predator tracker, other preds were willing to share their kills with him on the understanding that he would return the favor later.

"Why don't you just go hunting?" John asked, even though it made him feel guilty. Sherlock provided nearly all the food for the cave's three occupants.

"Not today."

That wasn't much of a reason, but John let it go. "I need a job," he muttered. He had thought the lion hospital was going to take him on, but it had been weeks since he applied, almost a month.

"Dull," said Sherlock.

"Well, where's your tag?" John asked, noting that Sherlock wasn't wearing his either.

"Over by the human blanket."

When John went to fetch the tag, Sherlock got up off the short sabre he'd been concealing and shoved it under the buffalo hide before going to the typewriter sitting by the telegraph. John had started using this new piece of machinery to record Sherlock's adventure with the Yard's old pride leader.

"You've been using the typewriter?" John asked, somewhat offended. "I left the case locked."

"Picked the lock. It wasn't that difficult."

John huffed in annoyance. _What an irksome day this has been..._ "What about that Dhole case? the one with the pup with the diamond marking?"

"Not interested. I sent them a message." Sherlock looked over the telegram he'd received earlier that day.

_Hello, old chum. Bit of an upset at the new bank. Hoping you can sort it for me..._

"I need to go to the bank."

"What?" John asked. "Sherlock... we don't have a bank. Banks are the stuff of human history, long gone."

"The Royal Pride's building a banking system. Strictly speaking, it's not operational yet, but when the banks open, there will be standardized currency in the world once more. There's a branch up on the hill to the south, beyond the valley. We need to go."

"But... oh..." No less frustrated, John slipped Sherlock's tag chain around his neck and followed the cheetah out of the cave.

* * *

John had heard that the lions were building something large on the hill, but the scale of it truly amazed him. It was a proper building with doors that locked, and even _windows._ That must have taken some chimpanzee or gorilla dexterity. Sure enough, several ape-types were moving around among the lions inside—chimpanzees and baboons, mostly.

One baboon greeted Sherlock with a sort of forced warmth, introduced himself to John as Sebastian Wilkes, and took them into an office.

"So, I heard you've been giving the lions some assistance," the baboon said, going to sit on a cushion behind a low desk. "Jolly good."

"You've been busy, too," Sherlock countered. "Traveling all the way to the rain forest twice in only a few months. Extraordinary."

The baboon chuckled—again, forced. He looked at John. "We were at uni together. Sherlock always did this thing... he'd look at you and know what you had for dinner the night before. We hated him for the way he'd analyze us..."

"Oh, I've seen him in action," John assured him.

"So, I suppose I've got some speck of moss or a rain forest leaf on me somewhere," the baboon said, beginning to look down at his coat for the clue that had tipped Sherlock off.

"No. I... just had a chat with your assistant. She told me."

John didn't recall any such chat. He wondered why Sherlock was lying.

"Well, anyway... hope you can help me figure out our trouble here. There was a break-in."

"What was stolen?" John asked.

"Nothing. Whoever it was just left a little message. I'll show you."

Wilkes took them back into the lobby of the building where many animals were busy building shelves and learning to use cash registers. Behind the main island of desks was a row of animal images showing the various species that had helped to build the bank. Second from the right was an image of a baboon. A streak of yellow clay covered its eyes. Another strange marking of the same color was on the wall nearby.

"The bank was locked up tight for the night," Wilkes said. "All the key-holders had all their keys. There were guards all round the building. We haven't a clue how this creature got in, but if you can figure it out, you'll be rewarded. I have here a credit token that will give you access to ten cuts of meat from the local Royal representative pride, and there'll be a much larger payment when you've solved it."

"I don't need an incentive," Sherlock declared. "This case is actually interesting." He sauntered off.

"He's kidding you, obviously," John said quickly. "I'll keep that for him; just attach it here with his ID tag, will you?" He suddenly realized he must seem like Sherlock's valet, carrying his personal belongings.

After examining the wall message from every possible angle and distance, Sherlock quickly looked around the rest of the building. "Sebastian," he said, as he peered out a window at the side of the building, "there's a sheer drop here at the back of the hill. Was there a guard posted on that side?"

"No," Wilkes answered. "But we've determined that there aren't enough handholds for an ape-type to have climbed up that way."

"Interesting. I've got all I need now. I'll be in touch."

Outside, John said, "You didn't chat with any assistant—you said that just to irritate him. How did you know he'd been to the rainforest twice recently?"

"Did you notice his post?"

"Post?"

"Mail on the desk. A letter from Ecuador. It was tiny and addressed by hand in a very small but neat script. Then there was the jar of sweet gum on the shelf."

"Er... sweet gum can come from places besides the rain forest..."

"What kind of animal lives almost entirely on sweet gum?"

"A pygmy marmoset," John answered immediately, being familiar with the small monkeys.

"Precisely. Sebastian has acquired one as a pet or assistant and keeps a supply of sweet gum for it. But if it's living with him, why would it have sent him a letter? So, he visited the rain forest once, took up correspondence with this little monkey and persuaded it to come stay with him, then he went back to the rainforest to fetch it. A little marmoset would never make a journey that long on its own. Also, Sebastian is looking more fit than I've ever seen him. He was always lazy at school. Must have taken a long journey or two in recent months."

John wondered what sort of school it was that accepted both cheetahs and baboons as students. It must be very posh and expensive.

"Okay, so what do we do now?"

"The message could be seen from only a couple of vantage points besides the main lobby, and only a few creatures came in to do night work. The one who had a good view of the message from his office between twelve and four a.m. and who did not report seeing the message, and who has gone missing from work is one Edward Van Coon, a hyena who is destined to translate for Asian patrons when this bank is up and running."

"So, we're going to find Van Coon?"

"Indeed."

* * *

When they got to the cave where Van Coon was known to reside, they found the cave mouth blocked by large rocks, as if there had been a recent rock slide from the hills above.

"These rocks fell very recently," Sherlock said, looking around at them.

"How can you tell?" asked John.

"There was a strong thunderstorm in these hills last night; the path was muddy. But as you can see, these rocks are covered in powder from their colliding with each other. That would all have been washed away."

"So it probably happened after Van Coon left the bank—he might be stuck inside?"

"Van Coon," Sherlock called loudly. "Are you inside?"

There was no answer.

"Well, now what?"

Sherlock paced a few yards away from the cave, then turned, took a running start and leaped up onto the topmost rocks. He knocked aside a couple large ones and soon disappeared into the cave.

"Oh... hang on." John clambered over the rocks at the foot of the slide and began picking his way up the pile. _Climbing trees is so much easier._ "Sherlock! A little help would be nice. Sherlock, you okay in there? Oi, Sherlock!"

"Don't bother, John," Sherlock's voice came to him at last. "Best get to the nearest telegraph and send for Lestrade. Van Coon is dead."

* * *

"He'd just been on a long journey," Sherlock said, looking at Van Coon's belongings as the Yard lions snooped around and finished removing the boulders from the cave entrance. "He has a water bag here with water still in it, but there's a stream only a furlong away. Also another bag... this one empty. Wonder what he used that one for."

"Leftover food?" John suggested.

"Doesn't smell like anything."

"I'll take your word for it."

"What, you don't want to investigate along with me?"

"No, it's just that sniffing the belongings of a carrion-eater doesn't suit my fancy."

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, if I'm right and the message was intended for Van Coon, why couldn't it have been posted, or sent by egret?"

"Maybe... Van Coon isn't always this easy to find?"

"Good, you follow."

"No..." John frowned.

"What sort of message does one want to _avoid _getting?" He stepped up to the limp hyena and gingerly reached into its mouth to pull out something dark and shapeless. "I think he was being threatened."

"Right, you," said a bossy voice, "I've got this well in hand. You can keep out of my way."

"I sent for Lestrade," Sherlock complained.

"Well, tough," answered the young lion in front of him. "He's busy."

Sherlock offered the... thing he'd found in Van Coon's mouth to the newcomer. "Fine. Here you are, Sergeant."

"It's Detective Inspector, actually. Dimmock. And I know who you are. I heard about your shenanigans with the Hope case, and I don't need you mucking up this scene." He turned to the cadets in the cave. "Right, this here was obviously an unfortunate accident."

"Seems to be the case," John agreed.

"Highly unlikely," Sherlock contradicted.

"Oh?" Dimmock sat on the cave floor and glared at him defiantly. "What makes you say that?"

"Van Coon was killed early this morning; the rock slide occurred immediately afterward—it was intended to cover the death. He was indeed killed by a blow to the head, but not by any falling rock. And just look at the way he's lying on the cave floor—nearly parallel to the entrance, neither on his way out, nor on his way in. Was he just lying there, hoping to be hit on the head?"

"But there's blood on this rock here," Dimmock insisted, indicating a large, watermelon-sized rock. "It obviously hit the victim and then rolled off."

"John?" Sherlock prompted.

A little timidly, John offered, "If that rock had struck Van Coon on the head, it wouldn't just have fatally concussed him. It would have crushed his skull."

"Precisely. And as you can see, it's quite a little wound that killed him. Honestly, I don't know how you can miss such things."

"But... if Van Coon was killed in the cave before the rock slide, how did the killer get back in after to put the blood over here? You said it was completely blocked up."

"Didn't have to. He just had to put some blood on another rock and roll it down inside. Forensics should conclude that the blood on that stone isn't Van Coon's. Furthermore, he was being threatened."

"What?"

"There was a break-in at the bank site on the hill," John supplied. "Someone left him a coded message."

"What sort of animal plans something like this? Who would have it in for Van Coon?"

"Finally," Sherlock said with a small smile. "You're asking the right questions."

* * *

[Some weeks earlier]

"There you are," Jim said. "I was beginning to be anxious. What took you so long?"

"Your chimp gave me the run-around," Sebastian growled. "I hope you had a pleasant day."

"I did, but it was dull. I've grown used to you, and Clem is a poor substitute. I see you acquired a pistol."

"Lionpaw, but it will do. And I've sent for a Tigerpaw rifle. Which reminds me—do you deal in arrow poison?"

"I have, from time to time."

"He wants some in trade. And fish."

"I delight in spoiling him," Jim said. "He's a little devil, but so endearingly crafty. I can get the poison for you. I can have someone get the fish as well, if you like."

"I'll manage. But thank you."

"All right. Tomorrow morning I've got to present the feast to the winners. You'll be with me."

Sebastian nodded. So far, no one had made any attempt to cross Jim in any way since the tiger had come into his employ, but there hadn't been much occasion for it. The end of the game might be cause of some trouble from sore losers. It was doubtful, but Sebastian almost hoped for a disturbance. The job of bodyguard had far too much down time for his liking.

"So, what did the imp demand for the handgun?"

"A warthog piglet. I've gotten that for him already."

"Oh." Jim was silent a moment. Then, "Just out of curiosity, where did you catch it?"

"Out on the plain."

"Good," he breathed, sounding relieved. "You see, there's this little valley where a lot of chimps and warthogs live, and I don't permit any hunting there. Those creatures cultivate certain fruits and berries for me in return for protection. It would be bad PR if a piglet got killed. Work, work, work. Very tedious."

"I didn't know you were fond of fruit."

"Not very often, but it's a nice change now and then. And it's very useful for bartering. There will be quite a bit at the feast tomorrow. And before I forget, Miss Adler and I will need some privacy tomorrow night. I'm counting on you to see that we're not disturbed."

"Very good."

Jim smiled. Then he sniffed the air. "I think dinner's on its way up."

Sure enough, a moment later they could hear Clem coming, dragging a carcase along behind him. The hyena dropped his burden at their feet. "There ya go, boss. Nice Thomson's gazelle from the cheetahs. Can I have a bite?"

Sebastian growled at him. "Manners," he said.

"Seriously," Jim agreed.

"Well, I wouldn't ask, but I haven't eaten today..."

"You'll get the bones. Now get out and quit drooling. Out!"

With a cowardly laugh, Clem hurried back down the rocky path.

The two large cats picked the bones clean in little time and then Jim dumped them down to Clem whose strong jaws could crack them open to get at the marrow. Then they groomed each other clean.

It had taken Sebastian a little while to warm up to this grooming ritual, but now it seemed routine. If he forgot, Jim would complain and even pout a little. So he did it to keep the boss happy... but after a while he realized he enjoyed it, too.

"Well, that was a good end to a dull day," said Jim. "Come on." He led the way to the zebra hide where he normally slept with Sebastian beside him, or against him on cool nights. Tonight he snuggled back into the tiger's soft undercoat until his companion took the hint and curled around him, putting one striped foreleg over the leopard's body. "Good night."

Sebastian looked down at Jim's spotted face, serene in the fading light. It was strange to think that that visage struck fear into the hearts of creatures for miles around, and yet here the ruthless predator lay snuggled up like a cub against its mother. It was irresistible. So he didn't resist. He slowly lowered his head and dragged his tongue over Jim's face from muzzle to ear.

Jim hissed in a little breath of surprise, but it came out in a purr.

Sebastian was pleased with this result, but he decided not to push his luck. He laid his head down across Jim's neck and closed his eyes. "Pleasant sleep," he whispered.

* * *

[Present]

Sherlock and John went back to the bank to fill Wilkes in on his dead hyena colleague, assuring him that it was not an accident, whatever the lions said. The next day, Watson went back to the Leonine hospital to try applying again. He was very tired of feeling useless, and he made up his mind that this time he wouldn't just see if there were any openings for surgeons. He would take anything they could offer him, even very short hours and very boring tasks.

When he told Molly he was ready to try anything, she directed him to the office of someone called Sarah Sawyer. There he was shocked to see something he'd never dreamed to see so deep in Africa: another ocelot. A _female_ ocelot. He had painstakingly typed up a resume on the typewriter, and he speechlessly held it out to her.

"Good afternoon," she said in a pleasant voice. "Oh..." she took the resume. "Doctor Watson. How nice to meet you. You're here about a position?"

John nodded, not trusting his voice to come out steady.

"Well we are a little short on staff temporarily," she said. "One of our best doctors just had a litter of cubs and has gone away to raise them. Two others are out on leave. Mind you, your qualifications are rather high for a temp position like this..."

"I just... want to keep busy," John said, wishing he could sound more sophisticated. Oh for a deep voice like Sherlock's. "Can use the pay, of course."

"Might be a bit mundane."

"Mundane is fine. It's good sometimes." Everything Sarah said was good. And she was even smiling at him. John realized his tail was twitching spastically as if he were a kit stalking a bird. _Oh lord, she's going to think I'm a dunce._

"So, you were a soldier?" she was looking back at his resume.

"Well, yes. But I was a doctor in the army."

"What else can you do?"

"Um... I can send and receive Morse code."

Sarah laughed. "That'll be useful, I'm sure."

When he got back to the cave, Sherlock was sitting on his human-made blanket, staring at the wall.

"I said, 'could you get me some charcoal and paper,'" Sherlock announced, as if continuing a conversation.

John looked around. He was the only one there. Mrs. Hudson must be tucked away deep in the corner of her side of the cave. "When?" he asked.

"About an hour ago."

"You didn't notice I wasn't here?" John was miffed, but he fetched the items anyway. "I went back to the Leonine hospital to see about a job. Got one, actually. Temporary, but still."

"Good. Think you'll enjoy it?"

"Yeah. Great. She's great."

"Who?"

John froze. _Oh, crap._ "The job," he said rather pathetically.

"She?"

"It."

Sherlock shrugged. "Telegram came while you were out. A wild dog was just found dead. The Yard thinks he fell some twenty feet to his death... but adult wild dogs don't normally fall off cliffs and such. They have too good a sense of self-preservation to go near the edge. Furthermore, the ledge he fell from is in a spot that's very difficult to get to, particularly for canines rather than felines. He had no good reason to be there. I'll wager anything the autopsy will show he was struck on the head before being dropped off that precipice."

"You think it's related to Van Coon, then?"

"I hope so. We need to get to the Yard and discuss it with the lions."

"If that Dimmock fellow's still in charge, he's probably not going to listen."

* * *

_The Blind Banker is possibly my least favorite, but I think I can find ways to keep it interesting. ^^ If you're liking it so far, please leave a review._


	8. The Blind Baboon 2

_Hm... only one review for the last chapter. *pout* But it was a good one! Thanks. ^^_

_Warning: Cat sex in this one. (You asked for it. xp) I think I should up the rating to be safe. I mean... it's not people, but still. It's anthropomorphic animals. So, yeah.  
_

* * *

**Big Game**

The Blind Baboon part 2

* * *

[Weeks ago]

"A job very well done, Kudu," Jim congratulated the hyena matriarch. "The clans scored over two hundred baboon tails."

Kudu bowed her head graciously, but she wore a proud smile. "Thank you, professor. It's an honor."

"Indeed. But before the feast begins..." Jim drew himself up and looked out over the little crowd of animals who had shown up for the presentation—most of them probably hoping for leftovers. "There are a couple of hyenas who did not play the game strictly as it was laid out."

Kudu's eyes widened and she looked around nervously.

"Not your clan, my dear," Jim clarified, "but some of the ones working with you for the sake of the game... they stole tails off the kills of other creatures, and that simply cannot be tolerated. Out on the plain, it's every predator for himself. But here, in a controlled game in my dominion, there is to be no cheating! No stealing!"

Jim saw a couple of hyenas on the fringe of the group cringing back and avoiding the questioning looks of their fellows. He leaned toward Sebastian. "You see them?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take their tails."

The tiger leaped forward with a snarl to chill the blood. The guilty hyenas turned to run but their clan mates knew where their duty lay and tripped them up. Sebastian completed his grizzly job quickly. Then the cheaters were allowed to run for the hills.

"Don't come back!" Jim shouted after them. "Those two will never be welcome in my borders. See that no one offers them help of any kind."

"Never welcome!" the other hyenas chorused. A couple of young ones started playing with the discarded tails.

Jim smiled. _Good little subjects._ When Sebastian returned he looked up into the beautiful striped face smeared with crimson at the corners of his mouth. "Well done," he purred.

Sebastian looked pleased with his own work, his eyes flashing as he caught his breath. "At your service," he said.

Jim turned back to the little crowd. "Let the feast commence! Oh, and please don't eat the chimps—they're here to serve fruit."

A general chuckle went up from everyone except the chimpanzees, who smiled nervously or just ignored the comment.

* * *

"It was good to see you in action today," Jim told Sebastian after dinner that night.

"It was nice to get an assignment," Sebastian replied.

"You'll have more to do soon." Jim leaned down to lick some sticky blood off Sebastian's shoulder and felt the tiger's tongue cleaning his ear. He smiled. It was so nice having someone to give him intimate attention without all the brainless chatter or the inconvenience of ordinary social protocol. Although... "Miss Adler will be staying with me tonight, as you know..."

"I'll see that you're not disturbed."

"Thank you. I don't know how I managed without you." The blood was well cleaned away, but Jim went on licking persistently. He moved on to Sebastion's chest. Neither of them spoke.

Then Sebastian began licking Jim's head. Then his neck.

Jim's smile grew. _I can't ever let him leave. He's the best help I've ever had._ He sat up. "Best send for Miss Adler before I lose appetite for her," he said with facetiously narrowed eyes.

Sebastian made no reply but got up to do as he was told. "I'll be within call, should you need me."

Jim felt a little regretful as Sebastian padded away. But then he went back to his zebra skin to wait for his guest in the fading light.

He was getting quite impatient when she finally arrived. "Good evening, Miss Adler," he said a little stiffly.

"Good evening, Professor," she answered.

Something in her voice sounded off. Jim caught her scent and felt his reproductive organs respond in excitement.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting. I'm afraid there's been a poor oversight on my part. You see... the end of the contest unfortunately coincided with the beginning of my estrus."

_She's going to try to back out on me,_ Jim realized.

"As you know, I don't wish to risk having cubs, and..."

"I don't give a damn about your estrus," he sneered. "You and I made a bargain. You've kept me waiting long enough."

"But... you offered me a place in your territory gaining information through my trade. I can't do that if I have cubs in tow."

"No, probably not. As we're different species though, there may well be no cubs. If there are, you can make other arrangements."

"I... I don't see what 'arrangements' I could make."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Give them away. Drown them. Eat them. It's not my worry. You won't make a fool of me."

She looked shocked at his suggestions at first. Then she glanced furtively about, as if for an escape.

Jim watched her intently, ready to call Sebastian to cut her off if necessary. But then her muscles relaxed and she dipped her head submissively.

"Very well."

A smile replaced his stern look. He moved toward her and they circled slowly, taking in each other's scent. In spite of the undesirable circumstances, the jaguar's hormones caused her to look hungrily at him. She crept onto the zebra skin and crouched invitingly.

Jim mounted her slowly, easing into her slick warmth. He leaned his head down to nip the back of her neck and began to pump back and forth. _It's been too long,_ he realized. He hadn't had a mate since before Sebastian came. That wasn't terribly long; he normally tried to mate a couple of times a month, but over the last week his sexual appetite had grown at an unusual rate. Perhaps it was the anticipation of having a jaguar all to himself... but something about that burnt orange hide broken up by black bars and fringed in white...

Irene snarled at him and he only jumped back just in time to avoid her razor-sharp teeth and claws. He laughed in excitement. "Close one there," he said, smiling at her. She faced him and he circled, trying to get around behind her again. He had barely begun, but he could tell her reputation was well deserved.

She was very good at dodging him, and Jim felt a mixture of frustration and pleasure in chasing her. But before he could get too discouraged, she coyly went down on the ground again, crawling away and looking back at him with irresistible lust. He wasted no time snatching up the opportunity. This time he gripped the nape of her neck firmly and thrust harder. She gave a low growl of warning, but that just made him want her more. He quickened his pace and managed to ejaculate with a rather unmanly sound of ecstasy before she twisted out from under him, this time just grazing his foreleg with one claw.

The pain only added to his arousal, as did her wild, amazonian growls. _Oh yes, she's earned this reputation well._

* * *

On the path below, Sebastian kept a careful vigil, listening to the wanton sounds of the coupling cats. Sometimes it was hard to tell which voice belonged to which. Irene seemed to have a deep voice which was very attractive. When he was so aroused, Jim's voice seemed to go up in pitch. Sebastian couldn't help grinning when he heard something between a growl and a squeak that he knew was the sound of his master's climax. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

[Present]

"The blood on the rock?" Sherlock prompted.

"Wasn't Van Coon's," Dimmock admitted. "Wasn't even hyena."

"There! You see, your investigation will go much faster if you accept what I say instead of arguing!"

John kept his mouth shut.

"I handed you a murder inquiry," Sherlock went on. "Let me investigate this wild dog death. I'm certain it wasn't natural."

Dimmock obviously hated his current situation, but he had to relent. He let Sherlock look over the scene of the wild dog's fall, and then showed him the small den where it had lived.

"This is strange," Sherlock said immediately when they reached the den. "Wild dogs live in large packs. This one lived alone."

"Could you tell anything from the death site?" asked John.

"Plenty. He landed squarely on his back. Anyone who feels himself falling will instinctively begin to twist in the air, trying to land feet first. With such a long drop, he'd have had plenty of time to do so. He was killed first, then dropped. We're dealing with a killer who can climb."

Dimmock frowned. "You're not serious..."

"It's how he got into the bank—probably a cat-type. He got a good run up the hill, digging his claws in, scraped his way up the wall and clung to the window ledge."

"And then I suppose he just floated inside."

"He lifted himself by the front paws and sprang onto the ledge. Extremely agile. Before he left he sanded the window ledge down so his claw marks wouldn't be seen. When he went to kill Van Coon he lay in wait for him, probably in a niche in the cave wall. He struck him on the head, dragged him to the cave mouth, started the rock slide and then used his climbing skills again to get to the top of the rock pile and roll one bloodied stone down inside before sealing the entrance."

"All by himself?"

"He may well not be working alone. Particularly since I think it's a rather smallish cat-type. Anything as large as a leopard would probably have ripped the window ledge off the wall. Furthermore, the victims think they're safe in caves. Ergo, they think this opponent can be deterred in a defensible position. Small predator."

"But his agility makes up for his size?" asked John.

Sherlock nodded. "Precisely." He looked around the cave. "I need to find out what connects these two animals."

"Van Coon had a couple of bags... a water bag and..."

Sherlock spun in place. "Water. Where's the nearest water source?"

"There's a spring to the east," said Dimmock.

Sherlock stepped out of the cave again and followed the faint path in the weathered grass toward the little ground-fed spring. He studied the paw marks carefully.

"Sherlock," John said suddenly.

He looked up and saw his friend pointing at the opposite side of the spring. Following with his eyes, Sherlock made out two deliberately formed markings in the mud.

* * *

[A few days earlier]

"Nice vantage point from this ledge," Jason commented as Jim surveyed his new surroundings. "I had your zebra pelt brought up so you'll be comfortable. And there's a nice hollow here in case of bad weather—practically a little cave. There's a stream at the foot of the hill, and if that runs dry the marsh is just a few miles north. The marsh is fed by underground springs, so there's water year-round."

Jim nodded in satisfaction. "I think it will do. What do you think, Sebastian?"

The tiger looked the site over carefully. There was only one easy path to reach the ledge, and hardly any creatures would have a chance of reaching it any other way. It should be easy to keep the leopard safe here. "I agree; it will do." He crouched slightly and let his weapons harness slide off with a light clatter. Then he began arranging the weapons in the rock hollow: hunting knife, Lionpaw pistol, Tigerpaw rifle. The rifle was his pride and joy. He had gone through quite a bit of trouble to acquire it. Often, when Jim didn't need him, he would spend extra time cleaning it or polishing the stock.

"We've helped Miss Adler to establish a territory to the south, where the acacia trees come up to the foothills," Jason went on. "She sends you her regards."

Jim yawned. "I'll be more interested when she sends me useful information," he muttered.

"You have an appointment with your Asiatic contact this evening. Would you like dinner before or after?"

"Mm... after. it'll give me an appetite. Any news on the cheetah?"

"Not since yesterday, sir. But he's being closely observed."

"Well, have him _more_ closely observed. I want to know his preferred prey, if he's a light sleeper, if he's shagging his ocelot friend, if he dislikes getting his paws muddy. Details."

"Yes, sir. I'll have the spies increase their efforts."

"Good. That's all for now."

"You've taken a strong interest in this cheetah," Sebastian observed as the secretary bird glided off the ledge. "One might almost call it an obsession."

"He was Hope's downfall. He's got to have some brains, which is more than can be said for a lot of the creatures around here."

* * *

John went over the information with Sherlock again and again.

"Killer goes in through the window and leaves the cypher," Sherlock said. "Van Coon comes to the bank in the wee hours and panics. Goes home where he thinks he can defend himself. Killer is lying in wait, Van Coon Dies early morning."

"The killer learns where Lucas goes for water," John continued, "leaves the symbol where he knows it'll be seen, Lucas goes home..."

"Late that night, he dies too."

John was completely mystified by the series of events. "Why did they die, Sherlock?"

"Only the cypher can tell us," Sherlock answered.

_He doesn't know,_ John concluded silently. _At least I'm not far behind him on this one._

Sherlock headed out of the cave and John followed.

"Everyone knows some codes, whether they realize it or not," Sherlock said, perhaps more to himself than to John.

John answered anyway. "Sure; I learned Morse in the army..."

"Not just that, though. When you lived in the rain forest, you left your scent and claw marks to tell other ocelots where your territory was. You'd see the sign of a jaguar and know to keep well away."

"True..."

"And now that the lions are institutionalizing a new economy, symbols will be used more than ever."

"And... where are we going?"

"I need some advice."

John raised a spotted eyebrow. "Sorry, what?"

"I'm not saying it again. You heard me."

"But _you_ need advice..."

"On vandalism, yes. Need to speak to an expert."

John followed Sherlock to a flat, dusty area near a watering hole where a bat-eared fox was busily scratching in the ground. He seemed unbothered by their presence.

"Part of my new exhibition!" the fox said proudly, lifting a leg to urinate around his creation.

"Fascinating," Sherlock said in a bored tone.

"I call it 'Urban Blood-lust Frenzy!'"

"Catchy," said John.

"I've got two minutes before a Yard-paid jackal comes round that outcrop of rock. Can we do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock scratched the cypher in the ground. "I need to know the author that's been leaving this symbol round the Yard's territory. Do you know it?"

"What's the medium?" the fox asked, pushing John aside to move in for a closer look.

"Yellow clay, or scratched in the mud on the bank of a spring."

"Yellow clay comes from down by the marsh; gobs of it down there."

"What about the symbol?"

"Don't look like a proper language."

"Two predators have been murdered, Raz. Not killed for food, but dispatched for an unknown purpose, and this symbol has something to do with it."

"That's all you've got? I'll ask around, but this ain't much to go on."

"Hey, you!" A voice shouted suddenly. "What you doing there?!"

John saw a pair of jackals coming toward them.

Sherlock quickly scraped his paws over the ground, erasing the symbol he had drawn. Then he took off with his impressive cheetah speed, and Raz darted away in another direction.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the male jackal demanded. "This water hole is a Yard Pride landmark! You can't mark territory here."

"No, no," John said quickly. "I didn't make this sign. I'm just..." he turned to see that the others were gone... and realized that he was standing in the damp patch where Raz had just urinated. "Oh... no."

"Bit enthusiastic, aren't we?" the jackal demanded.

John groaned. _How could Sherlock leave me to take the heat like this? He couldn't be bothered explaining... damn it all! He knows I can't run as fast as he can!_

* * *

"You've been a while," Sherlock commented in his usual bored tone when John got back to the cave.

"Well, you know how it is," John said, barely keeping his anger reduced to sarcasm. "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they? Just formalities. Paw prints, a charge sheet, and I've got to be in court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock asked, not sounding the least bit interested. Just filling the space with the question.

_"ME,_ Sherlock! In court. On Tuesday. The lions are giving me an ASBO!"

"Good, fine."

"You can tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up anytime!"

"This symbol. I still can't place it," Sherlock complained.

Giving up, John went to lie on the water buffalo hide.

"No," Sherlock said, taking real notice of him for the first time and coming over to nudge John back on his feet. "I need you to go to the Yard. They'll have the evidence from Lucas's cave. Need to see if he traveled lately, as Van Coon did; any indication of his movements. We have to find out what connects them. I'll go back to the bank and see about Van Coon's recent activity."

John groaned, but he did as he was told.

* * *

Sherlock found some helpful items in Van Coon's office. With their help, and the help of the hyena's civet assistant, he began to piece together where Van Coon had been the day before he died.

"Why would he take his satchel out with him and then not bring anything back to the office?" the assistant wondered aloud. "I didn't think about it at the time..."

"He needed the satchel to transport something elsewhere... probably making a delivery to someone. What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?"

"No..." she said with a nervous laugh. I wouldn't say that. Only things he appreciated came at great cost."

"Like the perfume you're wearing... he got that for you, didn't he?" Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock went on,"When he took his satchel out, did he say where he was going?"

"No... something about southwest, though."

"So, he took made his delivery somewhere southwest of here, assuming he was telling you the truth, and then... Does the Royal Division provide meals for the staff?"

"Yes, but now you mention it, Mr. Van Coon didn't order anything since he got back from his trip."

"Been doing his own hunting," Sherlock concluded. "Or... had someone else doing it for him." He got up. "Got to find out where you went..." he muttered.

Outside the bank, Sherlock trotted southwest along the trail being worn in the long, dry grass. After a while it fanned out into smaller, fainter paths.

"Making some sort of delivery," Sherlock muttered. "And then you'd have to stop and eat... where did you hunt? Somewhere out here..."

He was so intent on observing the potential pray in the area that he nearly tripped over Watson. Without pausing to exchange What-are-you-doing-here's, he said, "Eddy Van Coon brought something here the day before he died... I've pieced together a picture with scraps of information; he took the boat over the Red Sea back to Africa and came south by rail, but beyond that I don't know... somewhere around here, he made a delivery. Somewhere southwest of the bank..."

"That shop over there," John said. He had said Sherlock's name a couple of times, but gotten no response.

"How could you tell?" Sherlock demanded, turning his attention to a stick-and-straw hut in the middle of the valley.

"Lucas made a to-do list. The shop was on the list. I think we may have found our missing connection."

"Oh." It made sense. There were plenty of gazelle frequenting the valley for its grass which stayed greener than most during the dry season. Van Coon might well have caught one of them or scavenged the remains of someone else's kill to satisfy his hunger.

They entered the "Lucky Cat" shop together. It was full of Chinese souvenir-type merchandise and run by a decidedly foreign-looking creature. Noting its similarity in shape to the civet in Van Coon's office, Sherlock determined that this must be a binturong.

"You want buy lucky cat?" the binturong asked in that soft, timid voice so often used to guilt creatures into assisting the unfortunate. Shen held up a gold-colored sitting tiger statue whose exaggeratedly round paw was waving back and forth. Its face had also been stylized to look extra cute, rather than fearsome.

John shook his head and smiled kindly. He and Sherlock looked at the strange items for sale, many of which looked quite useless, and some very old, and some rather like they were intended for human use.

"Sherlock," John said, picking up a... whatever it was... and turning it over. "Look at this label."

Sherlock joined the ocelot and looked. There was the symbol. Just like the one they had seen at the bank and at Lucas's spring.

* * *

_Hope it's staying interesting enough. Translating into animal culture is a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed writing Raz. xD Please leave a review. ^^  
_


	9. The Blind Baboon 3

_I'm Nova, don't worry, these are futuristic big cats so things work a little differently. xp Kudos for doing your research, though!_

_Thanks for the reviews! You guys are great. ^^ Sorry it took so long to get more up. I've been very busy. I do keep writing, but sometimes I can do just a couple lines a day, And I'm constantly rereading to check for mistakes, since I don't have a beta for this one. Hope I got them all. Enjoy!  
_

_Warning: more cat kinks ahead._

* * *

**Big Game**

The Blind Baboon part 3

* * *

When Sherlock finally allowed them to pause their investigation so John could eat, they continued to discuss all they had learned since discovering the symbol at the Lucky Cat.

"We know both Van Coon and Lucas were in China recently; Van Coon went to improve his Chinese and Lucas went to gather information for his information business which somehow kept him comfortable in spite of having no pack."

"And now we know that the symbol is a number, a sort of writing that used to be used by humans and is apparently still used by some animals from China," John said, after waiting until his mouth was clear. Then he dived in for another bite. He didn't understand how Sherlock could just sit there with food next to him.

"Van Coon didn't seem like a very successful businessman; he got himself in debt against his future share in the bank, but then he suddenly got in the clear again. I think it has something to do with the delivery he made."

"Mm, so he brought some'ing back from China? An' didn't give the lions tribute?"

"Yes... He and Lucas might well be smuggling in items that will soon have a high monetary value once the lions have established their banking system."

"So they're helping inflation get started before we even have money. But is that why they died?"

"No, no..."

"But why kill them after they've come back and made their deliveries...?"

"Perhaps someone got greedy."

"Ah." John sat back from his meal, sated for the moment. "So, something goes missing from the stash, the killer doesn't know who took it, so he threatens both Van Coon and Lucas... but why kill them both?"

Sherlock suddenly sprang up. "When did it rain again? Last night? Let me see..."

Regretfully, John left the last of his meal to the scavengers and hurried after Sherlock to the base of a huge baobab tree that grew beside a cave where there was a sign that said "Museum." He shook his head to reposition the little woven bag he had picked up at the Lucky Cat. He thought it might come in useful for gathering clues.

"This letter's been sitting here several days," Sherlock said, pointing out an envelope.

"How do you know that?"

"It was weighted down with a stone to keep it from blowing away, the writing is smudged from rain and the short grass underneath it is yellowed from lack of sun."

"So... someone lives in this tree, and they've been away?"

Sherlock stood with his front paws against the tree. "There seems to be a sort of woven mat... I suspect the tree is hollow and the mat is meant to cover the opening. But it's open just now..." He backed away from the tree, got an impressive running start and scrambled up among the branches on top of the huge trunk.

After staring a moment, John exclaimed, "Sherlock!" _How am I supposed to get up there? I'm a good climber, but this thing is so big around... no way to get a good hold. Blast him!_

Sherlock's faint voice drifted down to him, but he couldn't tell what he said.

John backed up and saw that Sherlock had disappeared from sight. Apparently the tree was hollow, then. "Think you can help me up this time?" he called. And when there was no answer, "Can you not keep doing this, please?"

Sherlock answered something, but again, he couldn't make it out.

"What are you saying?"

"Somebody's been here before me!" The voice was still muffled, but John could just understand a few words this time. Sherlock went on muttering about something...

John sighed. "I'm wasting my breath." He paced a bit. Then he called up at the tree, "Anytime you want to include me! No, I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I always work alone, because no one can compete with my _massive intellect!"_

He waited another minute or two with his back to the tree. Finally, Sherlock landed heavily on the ground beside him.

"Someone left here in a hurry," Sherlock choked.

"Someone?"

"Someone called Soo Lin." Sherlock nudged the envelope toward John, and the name was indeed scrawled messily on it. "We need to find her."

"How do we do that?"

"We can start at the museum next door." Sherlock coughed and wheezed.

"You all right? I don't think you're suited to climbing trees, Sherlock. It takes a lot out of you."

"I'm fine..."

* * *

Jim was in a good mood. He'd just heard that Irene Adler had taken up with an Agency Pride cadet. Agency wasn't as good as Royal, of course, but it was a step in the right direction. He missed the Serengeti, but the marshlands were growing on him. It was good to be a little closer to the lions, even though it was dangerous as well. It put him closer to the cheetah, too.

"When the new currency comes out, do you know what will happen?" Jim asked Sebastian cheerfully.

"What will happen?" Sebastian asked, doing a good job of sounding interested.

"I'll be fabulously rich."

"You're already fabulously rich, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm fabulous, at any rate." Jim tossed his spotted head and chuckled. "But this will be a new kind of richness. A more quantifiable kind. We can have buildings made. Good, defensible buildings. With soft beds. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Sebastian scanned the rocky surroundings as he did a hundred times every day. "Too many comforts make a cat soft, eventually," he said.

"Is that so?" Unnoticed by his bodyguard, Jim began to stalk a little closer. "How do you know that?"

"In the days when humans used to domesticate cats, they always became fat and lazy, unable to defend themselves..."

Jim sprang. As he flew at Sebastian's neck, the tiger turned and crouched under him so that Jim came down on his shoulder instead. They rolled against the rock wall and Jim nearly regained his feet, but then a huge paw struck him down and he was effectively pinned by the larger cat.

"I think you'll find that regular play sessions will keep your instincts sharp," Jim panted, grinning up at Sebastian.

A bird called, and soon he could hear Clem scrambling up the rocky path toward them.

Sebastian backed off, letting Jim up.

"Everything all right, boss?" Clem asked.

"Everything's fine," Jim said, not even looking at the hyena. "Go back to your post." He was almost purring. He had made a few non-serious attacks on underlings before, but Sebastian was the first to truly fight back. No one else had dared do much more than dodge. "No one's ever pinned me down before, you know."

"Am I in trouble?" Sebastian asked, not sounding the least bit concerned. He went back to the ledge and looked down over the marshland.

"Well, of course." Jim padded after him and nudged the tiger's shoulder with the top of his head. "I demand an apology."

"I apologize."

"No, like you mean it."

Sebastian looked like he couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed. He lowered himself to the ground and laid his head at Jim's paws. "Forgive me?" he asked, looking up with doleful emerald eyes.

_Oh, he's good._ "Of course," Jim said with a smile. He leaned down to lick Sebastian's ear.

Sebastian lifted his head and let Jim continue to lick him. The leopard was determined to touch every inch of that beautiful face with his tongue.

Jim paused. "Do you enjoy this?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Sebastian answered with his usual frankness.

"Would you like me to keep going?"

This time the tiger hesitated, just for a moment. "If you like."

Jim got down on Sebastian's level. "No, do you _want_ me to?"

A longer silence. "Yes," Sebastian admitted at last.

Jim leaned in again and began licking down the striped neck very slowly. He heard Sebastian's breath catch now and then in the midst of the steady in-and-out. _I won't push it yet. I'll give it a rest and try again when we're grooming after dinner. Keep him eager and not put-off._ He smiled to himself as he worked, gradually getting to Sebastian's chest. Then he stopped and put his head down on the tiger's paws.

Sebastian regarded him a moment, perhaps wishing the attention hadn't stopped quite so soon. Then he rested his head on Jim's neck and closed his eyes for a light nap.

* * *

At the museum, John and Sherlock learned from Soo Lin's caracal admirer that she had resigned her position suddenly three days earlier. It was he who had left the letter for her under the baobab tree. The caracal was showing them around the Chinese exhibits Soo Lin had worked with when Sherlock spotted a statue adorned with yellow clay. It was the same symbol once again.

With this new clue, they left the museum, only to be approached by a certain bat-eared fox.

"Oh, look who it is," John muttered resentfully.

"Found something you'll like," the fox told Sherlock.

John trotted after the other two in the gathering darkness, growing even grumpier as they went. "Tuesday morning, all you have to do is show up and say it was your urine."

"Forget about your court date, John," Sherlock said. He seemed to be excited, more eager than ever to make progress. As they neared the marsh, he said, "I suppose if you're looking for a reed it makes sense to try the marsh."

John squinted in the dim light and saw that there were hundreds of paw and hoof marks around, marking up the soft earth and clay around the marsh. A lot of them looked deliberately placed—more messages like the one Raz had left on the Yard's territory. And there in the yellow clay by a clump of marsh grass was a symbol very similar to the one they'd been studying all day.

Sherlock sniffed the clay. "This is the same stuff. Let's see what else we can find. There must be more evidence. Anything we can use. Spread out."

A good distance from the others and a little way from the marsh, John spotted a section of cleared ground with a number of the strange symbols evenly spaced across it.

When he found Sherlock again, the cheetah had located a dirty leather pouch.

"I think our graffitist may have used this to carry the yellow clay," Sherlock told John excitedly.

"Never mind that," said John. "I've found a whole lot of the symbols. A big area of cleared ground..."

"Show me."

But when John found the spot again, the ground was clear. Not a mark in sight.

"It... it's been smoothed over." John sniffed the ground in confusion. "I don't understand. It was here not ten minutes ago..."

"Someone didn't want me to see it," Sherlock concluded. He turned John's face toward him with one paw.

"Oi, Sherlock..."

"I need you to concentrate, John. Close your eyes."

"What? Why?" John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock's paw steadying him by the shoulder. "Wha-what are you doing?!"

"You need to maximize your visual memory. Can you see what was here before?"

"Yes..."

"Can you see the pattern?"

"Yes?"

"Because the average cat's memory on vision alone is less than forty percent accurate."

"Yeah, well don't worry. I remember it all."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, doubt clear in his voice.

"Well, I would," John snapped, opening his eyes, "if I could get at my bag. I made a sketch."

* * *

Jim allowed himself to get messier than usual at dinner to give Sebastian more cleaning to do. He was pleased to see that Sebastian seemed to be a little bit careless as well, the white areas on his neck and chest acquiring a few smears of blood.

When he allowed Clem to drag the remains of the wildebeest carcase away he said, "I don't want any more business this evening. See that no one bothers me."

"Yeshir," Clem mumbled with his mouth full. He dragged the carcase down the path.

Jim went to sprawl on his zebra hide and did his best to keep a neutral expression as Sebastian came to join him. He began grooming Sebastian with his usual nonchalance, but tonight he was keenly aware of the feel of the tiger's broad, rough tongue on his coat. He licked more firmly and more quickly as he went.

Sebastian went about grooming Jim as he normally did, doing an efficient job... until, after a few minutes, Jim started licking down between his forelegs. The way Jim was positioned, he couldn't get at any part of him that really needed grooming, but the leopard didn't show signs of quitting anytime soon.

Jim nudged at him and Sebastian slowly rolled onto his side. Jim licked his sternum and along his rib cage down to the soft, vulnerable belly area. He heard the tiger's sharp breath and sensed him tensing... and then relaxing again. He nuzzled one of the small nipples and then touched it lightly with his tongue.

Every muscle in Sebastian's body tensed; he got onto his elbows so his front end was upright and he looked back at Jim with a mixture of reproach and wonder.

Slightly nervous but managing not to show it, Jim asked, "Is something wrong?"

Sebastian maintained his stare for what felt like a long time. Then he looked back toward the path and up around the rock face behind the ledge and back at Jim again. "No," he said at last. "Nothing's wrong." But he didn't lie back again.

Jim returned to lightly licking Sebastian's stomach and then he worked his way back to tease the nipple again. Sebastian's breath came out stuttered again and his legs tensed, but he held still. He gave the same reaction when Jim moved on to his inner thigh and down toward his testicles.

"Jim," Sebastian said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

Jim paused, but didn't look up. "I seem to recall telling you to call me 'sir'."

Sebastian took a few deep breaths before saying in something more like his normal tone, "Yes, sir."

Jim smiled and continued his way, at last swiping his tongue very lightly over the sensitive scrotum and up the soft-furred sheath. He knew Sebastian's muscles were all tight like coiled springs. His claws grated against the rocky ground at the edge of the zebra hide. _Come on. Come out for me._ Jim nuzzled and licked until he could feel Sebastian hardening and little by little he began to emerge. Jim let his tongue slip down over the end of the fur and onto that slick surface...

Sebastian gasped and jerked away from Jim, his front claws tearing pebbles loose from the ground.

"Easy, Bastian," Jim said soothingly. He saw that he had lost ground, and he doubted he could tease him out again at this point. The shock of the foreign, rough tongue on such sensitive skin was a lot to take in. Instead, he dragged his tongue over another of Sebastian's tight, round nipples and began working his way back up.

Sebastian kept breathing hard until the leopard had gotten back up to his chest. Then he leaned down and Jim felt the hot breath in his ear and then his bodyguard's tongue sending hot, pleasant sensations through him from nose to tail.

Jim pushed Sebastian back flat on the ground again and wriggled between his front paws. They lay together for a few minutes without speaking. Then Jim said, "What did you think about that?"

Sebastian slid his paw over Jim's neck to his shoulder, perhaps stalling for time. "It was... different," he said.

"Worth trying again sometime?"

Another short hesitation. "Maybe."

"Something you might be able to try on me?"

A much longer silence. "If that's what you want."

Jim grinned and gave Sebastian's chest another lick. "We'll try it soon, then. But now it's time to sleep."

"Yes, sir." Sebastian nestled his chin against Jim's head.

Jim closed his eyes, still grinning to himself. _Hiring this tiger was the best thing I've ever done._

* * *

Sherlock tried all morning to crack the code of strange Chinese symbols, but he finally determined that they would need to find Soo Lin the Asiatic cat if they were to learn what it really meant. So that afternoon, he and John headed back to the cave museum to talk to the caracal once more.

"Whoever the killer is, they're after Soo Lin now," John said, appealing to the caracal's emotions.

Sherlock was distracted by something about the artifacts they had been shown on their last visit. "Who's in charge of these things here?" he asked.

"Soo Lin was," the caracal confirmed. "No one's touched them since she left."

"Oh, but you're wrong. Someone has..."

"She took perfect care of them. Obsessively. Even the old leopard who runs this place didn't mess with them; he left it all to her."

"Well, _someone's_ touched them since yesterday," Sherlock insisted. "They were arranged somewhat differently, I remember. Does the old leopard go to bed at dusk?"

"He does," the caracal confirmed.

"Fancy a stakeout, John?"

"No," John grumbled.

"Thank you, sir, you've been most helpful." Sherlock padded to the back of the cave and curled up on an oriental rug. "Come along, John."

Muttering about dusk being a good few hours away, John followed and dropped himself abruptly onto the rug beside Sherlock.

Somehow in the next hour or two, John fell asleep. Sherlock pulled his little friend a bit closer for warmth. Then he became still as a statue, waiting for Soo Lin to make her appearance.

* * *

_There you are... another kinky cat sex scene. If it bothered you much, turn back now because it's not likely to get better. xp Please leave a review.  
_


	10. The Blind Baboon 4

_Thanks for the reviews. I know it's been a while, but Hart & Holmes takes priority. xp Not to mention real life. (I have a life? Oh yeah, I forgot...)  
_

* * *

**Big Game**

The Blind Baboon part 4

* * *

All was dark and still. Soo Lin crept out of her hiding place and dropped silently to the floor of the cave. The scent of visitors was still heavy in the air. Quickly and quietly, she padded over to her exhibit and turned the artifacts over, checking them for damage.

Suddenly, something made her look toward the back of the cave and she nearly squealed when she saw the glowing eyes of a cheetah looking at her.

"Shh," Sherlock said softly. "We won't harm you."

John lit a lamp in the corner and brought it closer. "We wanted to have a word about the cypher someone left here..."

Seeing that the two spotted cats did not seem at all threatening, Soo Lin relaxed and sat on the floor. "The cypher means that he is coming to kill me."

"Why didn't you leave?" John asked.

"It doesn't matter where I go; he will find me. I wanted to stay here, to watch over these things."

"Who is he?" asked Sherlock. "Have you met him in person?"

"Ji Joo," Soo Lin said sadly. "We were orphans with no livelihood. We were forced to join the association of Asian cats known as the Black Lotus under a General Shan." She lifted a paw and they could just make out a flower tattoo on the dark primary pad.

"This Ji Joo fellow is your brother?" John asked incredulously.

"I ran away from the life of a smuggler and now he believes I have betrayed him. He will kill me."

Sherlock pushed John's sketch toward her. "Do you know how to decode this cypher?"

"These are numbers," she said.

"Yes, I know. But how do you decode it?"

"It's a code all the smugglers use. Based on the book—"

The lamp flickered in an air current and Soo Lin froze. She sniffed the air fearfully. "He's here," she whispered.

Sherlock sprang away toward the middle of the cave.

"Sherlock, no..." John tried, but it was too late.

Sherlock heard something whirring through the air and ducked, barely in time. He scurried behind a statue and peeked out. "That's very impressive," he said. "I've never seen a cat so accomplished with nunchucks. As you're so skilled, you will be careful not to damage any of these artifacts, won't you?"

He thought he heard a rustling as someone moved away. Carefully, he came out of hiding, listening intently. He took a few steps, then started trotting toward the back of the cave again.

John ran into him head-on. "Oh... Sherlock—"

Sherlock put a paw over John's mouth. They heard a dull noise from the back of the cave.

"Oh no," John whispered as Sherlock bounded away again.

Soo Lin was lying on the oriental rug, eyes vacantly reflecting the low lamplight.

* * *

Frustrated by Dimmock's lack of cooperation, John asked, "How many murders will it take before you admit that these maniacs are out there? An Asiatic cat was garroted with a nunchucks chain tonight. That's three in three days. You're supposed to be finding him."

Sherlock took over. "Lucas and Van Coon were operating for a gang of smugglers called the Black Lotus. Operating in this area, involved in the new bank, all up in your jurisdiction and you haven't taken any notice of them."

"Can you prove that?" Dimmock challenged.

Sherlock knew he couldn't prove it—yet. He wasted no time in getting to the Leonine hospital and confronting Molly.

"Hello, Molly," he said cheerfully. "Lunch break?"

Molly looked up from the gazelle leg she'd been about to feast on. "Oh, yes... are you hungry?"

"I'm on a case; digestion interferes with deduction. I'm just here to have a look at Lucas and Van Coon."

"Oh... I'm in charge of them."

Sherlock smiled in innocent surprise. "_Really?_"

"Their... their paperwork has already gone through..."

Sherlock suddenly focused on Molly's left ear. "You're wearing a flower today," he said.

"Oh. Yeah... it's an orchid."

"It suits you. You should wear one more often."

His flattery worked quickly, and soon Molly allowed him and Inspector Dimmock to see the corpses.

"Something I didn't know to look for before," Sherlock said, lifting the paw of the hyena and showing the tattoo to Dimmock. He went to the wild dog's body and lifted his paw, too. If they hadn't been looking for it, the tattoo would probably have gone unnoticed.

"So," Sherlock concluded, "either these two just so happened to go to the same tattoo artist and get the same lotus flower tattooed on them, or I'm right, and you'd better start listening."

Dimmock sighed. "What do you want?"

"Books. Any book any of the victims had in their possession."

"Books?" Dimmock looked very skeptical, but he wasn't in a good position to argue.

* * *

While waiting for Dimmock to deliver the books, Sherlock and John visited the Yardland Auction House, a place where anything could be bought and sold, but careful records were required to be turned in to the lions so they could share in the profits. Sherlock got permission to look over the record books, since he finally had the Yard's approval.

He and John poured over the records, noting the days that unusual Chinese items had been sold.

"These dates correspond to Lucas and Van Coon's traveling dates," Sherlock said excitedly. "But somewhere along the line, someone got greedy and stole one of the items..."

"Will he sell it at auction here?"

Sherlock shook his head. "If he's still alive he's probably waiting until he thinks it's safe. He'll have put the item somewhere for safekeeping."

The two of them headed back to Bushbuck Row and were greeted by Mrs. Hudson.

"Are you taking a correspondence course or something, Sherlock?" She asked.

Sherlock frowned. "Correspondence? What are you talking about?"

"Well, a young lion came by with a couple boxes of books... And then there were some notes he said they got at a museum..."

Sherlock's frown instantly turned to a smile and he bounded into the cave. "The cypher we showed to Soo Lin. Come on, John."

When John got inside he found that Sherlock had already torn open one of the boxes. "I'll take Lucas; you take Van Coon. The numbers are always in pairs, so let's start with fifteen-one: Turn to page fifteen and look at the first word on the page."

Most animals of the day did not keep many books; in fact, the majority could not read. Lucas and Van Coon kept more books than most, but even so the boxes were not full. Using the pairs of numbers, John and Sherlock tried to find any interpretation that could possibly form a threatening message, but there did not seem to be any such thing.

Mrs. Hudson retired to sleep soon after they began, and John longed to do the same. The letters and numbers swam before his eyes. Suddenly, with a jolt he realized that the light of dawn had crept over the threshold.

"Oh... oh, no. Sherlock, I've got to get to the clinic."

"Right," Sherlock said, not looking up. "Good."

John stretched his weary limbs, splashed his face with water from the pool and scampered out of the cave.

But going to the clinic turned out to be disastrous. He could scarcely keep his eyes open long enough to see one patient. When Sarah came to check on him late in the day, he realized he had fallen completely into a deep sleep.

"What time is it?" He stammered. "Have I got patients waiting?"

"Er, no..." said Sarah. "I saw a couple of yours."

"A couple?"

"Well... all of them."

John grimaced. "I'm sorry. I was up all night..."

"Doing what? If I may ask."

"A sort of a book... thing."

"Your girl friend's into books?"

"N-no, it wasn't a date."

"Good," Sarah said immediately. Then, "I... I mean, um..."

"And I don't have one tonight," John added, seizing this strange opportunity.

* * *

When he got home, Sherlock had begun a new line of investigation.

"Maybe the book wasn't one they kept around all the time, but it was one they could find easily. One that's very common."

"Not many of those in the animal world," John said, absentmindedly. "If you're right, that should narrow the field."

"Yes; we're going out tonight. Get some air. Look at new angles—"

"Actually, I've got a date," John said smugly.

"What?" Sherlock looked almost appalled.

"You know—where a couple of creatures who like each other go out and have fun..."

"That's what I was suggesting."

"No, it isn't," John said, smug look still in place. "At least, I hope not."

"And where were you going to take her?"

"Egret theater's got a new play on."

"Dull. Predictable. Try this." Sherlock shoved a pamphlet toward John. "In town for one night only."

"A circus?" John chuckled. "I don't come to you for dating advice," he declared. He was feeling immensely better than he had when he left that morning.

Still, _somehow,_ as darkness fell, John found himself leading the other ocelot down toward the marsh rather than up into the hills.

"I haven't seen a circus since I came over from the Amazon," Sarah said excitedly. "What sort of circus is it?"

"Um... dunno really," John admitted. "My friend suggested it. He wired for the tickets."

Soon they saw Chinese lanterns glowing in the distance, guiding them toward a white tent set up on the plain.

"Holmes," John told the beech marten collecting tickets.

"I have three tickets in that name."

"We only ordered two," John said, puzzled.

"Well, then I sent another wire to get myself a ticket," said Sherlock, coming up out of the darkness like the predator he was.

John felt his good spirits sinking.

"I'm Sherlock," Sherlock said, smiling at Sarah.

_No, no, no,_ John thought angrily. _I will kill you. _As soon as he got the chance when Sarah wouldn't hear, he said "What are you doing here? Can't you let me have a night off?"

"A Chinese circus, John! In town for one night only; it's a great cover, don't you think? It gives the assassin an excuse to travel from China..."

"Well, I don't need an excuse to assassinate you! I'll take Sarah somewhere else."

"But I need you," Sherlock said, sounding completely unable to understand John's reaction.

"I have other things on my mind right now, okay?"

"What could be more important than this?"

John's round eyes widened. "Seriously?" he squeaked. "You want me to chase some killer around when I could be bonding with Sarah...?"

Unfortunately it was just then that Sarah rejoined them.

"Heeeeey," John said, dying on the inside and grinning foolishly on the outside. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Inside the tent, the audience was small. There were no cushions to sit on, so they stood around the edge of a ring of candles where an Asian golden cat in a ridiculous headdress was displaying a feathered arrow. She fitted it into a mounted crossbow that looked far too large for her. She then plucked a feather from the headdress and dropped it into a shallow metal bowl and the arrow shot forward to lodge in a thick slab of wood.

The audience clapped hesitantly.

"This is such a small act," John mused, wondering if Sarah was going to be bored or annoyed. "This is really... weird."

"This isn't their day job," Sherlock whispered.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause really they're a band of smugglers. Shut up, Sherlock."

The marten from the ticket booth retrieved the arrow and took it back to the ring mistress while more masked golden cats came out into the ring. Two of them began strapping a third to the wood slab.

"It's a feat in escapology—classic Chinese circus act," Sherlock said so both John and Sarah could hear. "The warrior had to escape before the weight releases the arrow."

The audience had fallen completely silent. When the sandbag acting as a counterweight was torn and the weight began to lower, they could hear the warrior grunting as he struggled to escape. Sarah hid her face in John's chest and he cheerfully nuzzled her in comfort.

The golden cat warrior made his escape just in time, the arrow sticking in the board where he hand been tied just a fraction of a second before. Sarah laughed in relief and cheered with the other spectators. John looked around to see Sherlock's reaction, but the cheetah was nowhere to be seen.

"And now, for your pleasure," the ring mistress announced, "I present the Chinese Bird Spider!"

"Oh, I hate spiders," Sarah whispered. But as the giant tarantula made its way down a thin ribbon of silk, even she could not take her eyes off it.

The spider spun and swung and cavorted up and down. The show was going beautifully when out from behind a curtain tumbled the golden cat warrior and none other than Sherlock. John rushed forward to help his friend, and while the spider made a hasty getaway through the top of the tent, Sarah found a large stick to swing at Sherlock's attacker. He fell to the ground and Sherlock got a good look at the mark on the underside of his paw.

"Come on," Sherlock told the others when they could make a clean getaway. They rushed from the tent and away from the marshland.

Sherlock led them straight to the Yard to report the incident, but by the time the pride cadets arrived, the circus troupe was gone. Even the tent had been disassembled and dragged away. Inspector Dimmock was not pleased at sending out a raiding party and having nothing to show for it.

"They'll be on their way back to China by morning," Sherlock complained as they arrived back at Bushbuck Row. "I saw the yellow clay there, though. In the back of the tent. And the tattoo. There's no mistake. We have to find their rendezvous point before they're gone for good."

Sarah cleared her throat. "S'pose I ought to be going."

"Yes, I think that would be best," Sherlock said at the same time that John said, "No, you don't have to go."

John glared at Sherlock. "He's... kidding, of course."

Sarah tried again. "Anyone else starving?"

"Oh, god..." Sherlock muttered.

While Sarah made an effort to get acquainted with Sherlock and his work, John tried in vain to find any presentable food scraps in their half of the cave. He was about to give up when Mrs. Hudson surprised him with a little rolling tray.

"Got some punch and bowl of minnows," she whispered. "Did some swapping in market today. It's not much..."

"Mrs. Hudson, you dear," John said gratefully. "I'll pay you back tomorrow."

But they'd barely begun nibbling at the treat when Sarah made a discovery. "So the numbers are a cypher..."

"Exactly," Sherlock said with thinly veiled annoyance.

"And each pair of numbers is a word."

Sherlock froze. "How did you know that?"

"Two words are already translated here..." Sarah indicated John's graffiti sketch.

"John," Sherlock said excitedly, "Soo Lin started translating the code! Nine... mill. Nine million quid? For what? The code has to be in a book she had at the museum! Come on, we've got to go."

John knew that Sherlock would never relax at this point, so he didn't argue. On the other hand, he made no move to leave the cave when Sherlock rushed out.

"Well, that was quite an exciting date," Sarah said, smiling. "I'm always up for rough-and-tumble with a few oriental thugs. But it could be too much of a good thing."

John laughed nervously and tried to push away the thought that as long as he lived with Sherlock, dating would be a nightmare. "Er... maybe we should get something on Sherlock's tag...?"

"Yeah," Sarah agreed.

_We'll have a real meal, we'll relax, things'll be normal,_ John told himself. He sent a message over the telegraph. _So glad I had them put this thing in._ Being able to order by Morse code was such a convenience.

"Looks like your Morse came in handy after all," Sarah teased.

"Yeah, guess so."

They sipped punch and waited until someone called outside the cave mouth.

John eagerly went to retrieve their food. Outside the cave was a cat somewhat more solidly built than himself. It was cloaked in spite of the warm night.

"Sorry to keep you waiting..."

"Do you have it?" the cat demanded in a foreign-sounding voice.

"What?"

"Do you have the treasure?"

"Sorry, I don't understand."

Neither did John understand when the visitor clubbed him over the head.

* * *

_There you are, a little kitty plot-progression. The next one will give you an update on what Jim's up to. xD  
_


End file.
